The Everchanger
by Lord of the Quill
Summary: Set about a year or so after RotK. If you haven't read the Silmarillion, you won't understand much. If you've read that, Unfinished Tales and The Book of Lost Tales 1, then yeah, I've taken some of their stuff. R/R, kay? Flames will kindly toast lembas.
1. Default Chapter

 The lands of Valinor will never see their likes again. For none but the Firstborn have ever dwelt in the Ancient West, and none will dwell there when their time has passed. For they are but mere notes in the constant song of the Ainur, and the Ainur's song is but a flutter in the mind of Iluvatur, the One who Creates. Of the Halflings that were the first to touch the sands of Valinor with the last of the Exiled, only one remains. The other has passed into the Halls of Mandos. The Halfling that is spoken of here is Frodo Baggins, and the one who has passed on to the Greater Realm is Bilbo Baggins. Frodo lingers here, walking forever free, eating when he must, sleeping when he is tired. For in the Blessed Realm, there are no sorrows, save for the ones of long ago when the Noldor left their fair shores. So Frodo wanders, carefree, always thinking of those who were left behind in Middle-earth. Yet even fair and immortal Valinor is not immune to evil. For even the greatest wrath that Ulmo and Manwe can unleash will not stop Iluvatur from spinning his Theme. And Melkor, greatest of the Ainur, and the Creator of Evil, will play his part in the Great Theme of Iluvatur. For Iluvatur, wisest of all, knows that wisdom and depth will only come from pain and hurt. And thus he made Melkor mightiest of the Ainur.

    Iluvatur knew that of his Children, the Firstborn and the Followers, there were none who would play the part of the Everchanger, who would change from the poison of Melkor to the glory of the Valar. And so, with the slightest quiver of thought, he spun a note into the Song of the Ainur, and Created the One, the One who would be the Everchanger. He heard the Ainur sing his Theme, and finally, he smiled, and in a single piercing note, the clash of Melkor and the song of the remaining Valar stopped, as it had so long ago at the Creation of the World.

    Frodo knew not it then, but he too, would stand with the Everchanger, and he, the smallest of creatures, would, as Galadriel of the Noldor said, change the future, of the Firstborn, and even of the Valar, the mighty Ainur, forever. For the Ainur know not what Iluvatur chooses to keep hidden from them, and he wished that the Everchanger and the Halfling's part in this note of the Song be unknown to the Valar forever.

     The Mountains of Shadow, the Ephel Duath, had lain desolate and destroyed for many a month now, since the Great Fall and the End of Mordor. Yet their hostile peaks still sustained a solitary traveller, who was unknown to Middle-earth west of these jagged mounts. For he had lived only in Mordor, and had known nothing else but the tyranny of Sauron and the slavery he was born into and bred for. He was not immortal, and young, being only about twenty-five in the years of the Numenor, but he had seen things the Eldar would quail at, he had heard whispers that would trouble the Valar in their faraway lands.

    But now that Mordor was fallen, and all was at peace, he was troubled. He, Tiansom, son of the Maiar Sauron, was feeling restless and pained. He had fought viciously for Mordor, but the Ring undid his efforts, and he fled, seeking the mountains and their harsh dooms instead of the mercy of the King of Gondor. Never would he seek Gondor's pardon, for he was Mordor, the only survivor of the Doom that fell upon it. But the pain was vicious now, and he felt it in his marrow, that the time had come to seek a new beginning.

    The wind was breezing softly now, and as he listened, deep in thought, he heard a slow, chilled voice, as if it was struggling to speak against the wind that buffeted his cheeks now. 

     _I have Awoken,mightiest of the Ainur,_

_    I have Lived, through the perish of Many,_

_   I have Returned, Greatest of the Earth and the Skies and Sea,_

_  I am Morgoth, King of Kings, Lord of Lords,_

_ I have Returned, to Seek those _

_Who have Destroyed what should_

_Have stayed forever.___

  Morgoth...he struggled to remember the Elven-lore he knew. Morgoth...the Dark Lord of the World. The one who drove the Noldor to exile from Valinor, and slayed the Two Trees. He turned to face against the wind, and spoke, his voice sharper than the sword he carried at his waist.

_Destroyer of Telperion_

_Murderer of Laurelin_

_You have come to Seek_

_the__ One who Destroyed you_

_Little did thy See_

_What you Speak to_

_For I am not Firstborn, nor Follower,_

_Nor Istari, nor Dwarf,_

_I care not for thy troubles,_

_But I know of whom thy speaks,_

_And therefore I set out to protect him _

  He stopped, and felt the wind rattle in his bones, as Morgoth blazed, a bright red in a clear black sky. He remembered the fires of Mount Doom, and he quailed, suddenly scared, and crouched low to protect himself from Morgoth's undying heat.

_ you speak like the Eldar,_

_For you Know what was in Valinor,_

_and__ yet you claim you are not Firstborn or Follower,_

_and__ You know whom I seek._

_How will you protect him,_

_fool__ of a stranger?_

   Tiansom bowed, his eyes wet with tears from the pain he felt in his throat from singing his threats. He coughed, and a bright red gleamed gently at his lips. His eyes were cloudy as he spoke his last words, the Quest which Iluvatur had spun so long ago for him.

_ I will make the One_

_The One that Destroys you by its unsullied Light,_

_I will find the Nine Stones that are older than the Valar,_

_I will unite them._

_I will give the Light to the One_

_the__ One you seek...for I declare myself_

_Tiansom, enemy of Morgoth.___

   Sapped of all his energy, and worn like an old rag cast onto the floor, Tiansom swayed gently, like a graceful dancer, and fell, knowing nothing that came after his oath of enmity to the Great Dark, Morgoth.


	2. Over Mountain and Over Sea

Chapter 2: Over Mountain and Sea

     Tiansom lay still, his heart all a rapid flutter. His cheek was pressed against the jagged rock, and he remembered all that had happened, that Morgoth had spoken to him, taunting him, and he was free, formless, but powerful nonetheless. A vision of a deadly red flame in a clear black sky came to him, and he shivered, and turned on to his back so he could face the sky. The sun was burning brightly in the blue expanse above him. He closed his eyes, which were pained by the bright golden light of the sun. Then slowly, for he still felt shaken, he arose, slowly, and looked around. The cold mountains were much the same as always, the guards of Mordor, and for so long, the guards of him. They had sheltered him always, and he knew now, as the throbbing of his heart told him, that he must leave them, leave them and seek a new beginning.

    He suddenly stood straight and tall, and for an instant, to the onlooker, he was a mighty Warrior, akin to the Numenor before the Downfall. Then he shrunk back, and was Tiansom the Lone again. He laughed, a clear laugh which rang through the rocks, for he was excited, his heart bursting with happiness which he had never known before. Indeed, it was alien to him, and he could not stop laughing, for the sound was so clear and so joyful. Then, with a final happy laugh, he stopped, and gazed silently to the West, for he knew what he was seeking for was there. He wrapped his cloak about himself, and set off for Sirion-untoli, the closest pass that would lead him to the Realm of Gondor, for he knew what he must do, he must go West, and who better to travel with than Aragorn son of Arathorn?

     An object lying in the earth caught his eye. He knelt and picked it up, and after he cleaned it with his cloak, he looked at it. It was a stone, a flaming fire-colored stone that shone with the fiery power of Orodurin itself. It was warm in his hands, and he wondered, for no stone, not even the elf-stones that had been laid in the Rings of Power, were this fiery and bright. He ran his fingers over it gently, and he placed it in his inmost pocket, thinking that it would come in useful.

      "Come here, Frodo," Elrond Halfelven called to the hobbit, who was standing and gazing out East towards the Great Sea. "Your heart is troubled, my young friend. Tell me, what ails you even in the Blessed Realm?"

     "I feel a darkness, Elrond, a darkness. Something is amiss." He waved his hand towards the East, and spoke heavily, "Middle-earth is not at peace. There is a Shadow there, that eyes cannot pierce, and the sun will not shine through its dark cloak." He stared at Elrond, and spoke, "Is there not a way I could go back to the land that I have left? For I do not belong here, Elrond. This is the land of the Firstborn, who have known both worlds, and lived in both realms. I am a mortal, Elrond. Here there are things that will live beyond me, and there will be no change, for all that leaves in winter will come back in summer, as bright and as golden as it was millennia ago. They will never change. But I will wither, and I will fade forever. I am ill, Elrond, and I...I cannot bear to be here much longer. I wish to see change, and see things fade for new things to arise in their wake. I...I must go back, Elrond. My heart lies with Middle-earth, wounded as it may be."

     Elrond's keen gaze pierced Frodo, who looked back resolutely. He sighed heavily with sadness, and looked at Frodo. "Alas! I cannot grant you what you wish. For those who behold the Blessed Realm, mortal as they may be, can never return to the Forsaken Land." Frodo's eyes were sorrowful now, and he gazed silently back across the Sea, choking down his cries, knowing inside his heart, he could never go back. But Elrond suddenly arose, tall and fair, and placed his hand on Frodo's shoulder.

     "There is a prophecy that concerns the hobbit-folk. It is something which has not yet come to pass, but I suppose I must tell you, for perhaps you can see light where I cannot deem it to be. There is a shred of hope, a small strand of it. Now listen to me, and listen to what I say, for no mortal has ever heard this prophecy." Frodo sat down on a stone seat next to Elrond's, and listened, as he spoke in quivering tones.

    "I know that you know of the Enemy of the World, Morgoth. The Valar broke Thangorodirim, and imprisoned him, but they have never defeated him. Morgoth, of course, is many times more cunning and powerful than Sauron, and when he came down to Middle-earth, he was cloaked in a Darkness that no eye could penetrate, nor that any light could shine through. The Valar underestimated his cunning, for he lay silent in his prison beyond the Deeps of Time for many ages. But he has reawoken, and he has escaped. He gathered Sauron's remnants to him, absorbing his malice and his evil. He hovered over the Orcs in Rhun and hid in forests unknown, in the strange lands beyond Mordor. Finally, he appeared as a...flash of evil red in a clear black night, over the Mountains of Shadow." Here Elrond paused, and Frodo cried, "I have seen him!" Elrond stared at him, and he said softly, "It was a dream, and I slept here, facing the Sea. I beheld his Evil. But, I heard someone else. He had the clearest of voices, and he sang challenges to the Great Enemy."

    "Then you have heard what no being, mortal or immortal, has heard, the voice of the Everchanger. He is a nameless being, mortal as are the Men of Numenor. But he is no Man, nor is he Hobbit or Dwarf. He is the Everchanger, and he will weaken Morgoth forever. And it is here where your hope lies, Frodo, for the Everchanger will reunite the Nine who walked against the Riders of Sauron, and the challenge will fall on all your shoulders. What that challenge is, I do not know. Even the foresight that I am given is very limited when Iluvatur deems it should be. So, Frodo, despair not! For you and the Everchanger are tied together, that much I know, and the Everchanger is linked to Middle-earth by bonds that not even the Valar could break. He will take you back, Frodo, if this prophecy holds true."

       Frodo bowed and said, "I hope it does, Lord Elrond, for I will only stay here for a year, and if on this day of the new year I am not gone, then I will leave...to the Halls of Mandos, and dwell there forever." Elrond started, and checking himself, he smiled sadly and said, "Let it be, for I have no rule over you."

       Frodo stepped out of the house of Elrond, and ran as fast as his hobbit-feet bore him through the golden flowers and silver-leafed trees, and through grass of the greenest, youngest, kind, to the sandy shores of the Great Sea, where there were pearls and opals strewn about the shore, and it glowed in moonlight like the stars of Elbereth. He knelt on the shore, and after staring across the dark Sea for a great time, he picked a silver-and-gold flower, and with a smile, cast it into the black waves. Then, he went back, his feet wet from the seawater, to the fair immortal city of Imaldris that was so beautiful, and yet so heartbreaking.

     "Arrgh..curse this confounded pass!" Tiansom swore as he massaged his aching feet. He was huddled under a rock that pushed out from the cliff-wall above him, and the freezing East wind was blowing and howling through the pass, sounding not unlike a person in great torture. Tiansom had walked for a night and a day, and now he rested, and cursed his ill luck as he sat, knees pulled to his chest, on the gray rocks of the Ephel Duath and Sirion-untoli. His feet were crusted with dry blood, for as carefully as he had walked, and as tough as his soles were (as tough as a hobbit's), the rocks had hurt him, as if some living ghost of Mordor wished to stop him. Biting his lip till he drew blood, he silently gazed down into the fog-laden lands below, and the unspeaking gray guards above him.

     He plunged his hands into his pockets to delay them from freezing outright, and his fingers ran over the stone he had picked up. It was warm, and he drew it out into the freezing black night. It blazed suddenly, sending warmth running through his fingertips all through his body. He smiled, cupping his hands over the stone to keep them warm. Now that he was warm enough to think clearly, he realized he was hungry too. He decided to sleep off his hunger, and awake and continue at the dawning of the next day.

     But he could not bring himself to rest. For in his deepest mind he felt that he must go on, as quickly as ever. He groaned and growled, and finally pushed himself to his feet. The wind slapped him in the face with a bitter cold, and he felt warm blood trickle down from his nose past his lips. Wiping it away, he wrapped his gray cloak tighter to himself, and headed southwest, his eyes blinded by the furious freezing rain, but his feet toughened and surely following the path of Sirion-untoli.

      He felt a great weight on his heart, something he had not felt before. Sauron's Red Eye that had roved and searched unceasingly across Middle-earth had not bothered him, for his own heart was black then, but now, scarred as it might be, it was not Darkened, but filled with its own light. Morgoth was drawing him with all the force he could spare, seeing how useful he could be, but Tiansom the Lone kept pulling back, drawing away from Mordor. And so his heart was shattered, left to die. He had forsaken all he had ever known, and it weighed down upon him like a great crushing stone. Morgoth knew he was broken, but resolute. And so the Dark Lord was angered. He sent cold winds and deadly chills to prevent him from leaving the Mountains of Shadow. But Tiansom, broken son of Sauron, had pushed on.

        Tiansom forged on for what seemed like endless hours. The snow fell to his knees, and he pushed a path through it. His eyes, as good as they were, could not see for more than a few feet in front of him. He paused for breath, and then he heard a fell screech upon the air. He shuddered, and without hesitation, he crouched low and drew his hood about his face, while the snow swirled unceasingly about him. The screech was very familiar to him, the cry of a wraith. He knew it was not one of the Nazgul, for they had perished with the Ring, but a kinsman of theirs. He was hardly surprised, for he knew Morgoth was one who could awaken the dead if need be. 

         He surveyed the bleak path ahead of him, and suddenly realized he was much closer to Gondor than he had previously thought. It was a half-day's journey as the crow flew to Minas Tirith from the point where he stood. But in the swirling gray snow and fell winds, he knew it would take much longer. Deciding to rest, he found shelter under a rock that jutted out from the cliff-face above him, forming a roof to hold the snow. Crouching up next to the cliff-face, his knees at his chest, and his head drooping with weariness, he fell fast asleep.


	3. The Beginning of the Quest

Chapter 3: The Beginning of the Quest

    Aragorn, lord of Gondor, heir of Isildur, was troubled. For reasons unknown, his heart was heavy, and he felt a shadow, a darkening shadow, in his mind. Even the music of the Evenstar could not soothe it, for it grew restless and wary every time he tried to think of something else. He'd spoken to his counsellors, great and wise men who knew much of the world, and even they could not help him, for in their minds, they felt the Shadow too, a dark cloud that was great and powerful. Perhaps, they thought, if they could have some of its power, if they could be as great and terrible as it was, then they too could rule as they wished. The thought festered in their minds, it grew in dark corners, and it took them, much like the One Ring had taken its many bearers, save for the Halflings.

   Aragorn had watched silently as his advisors fell prey to its powers, for he was helpless to fight off an invisible shadow. Swords and axes were no use against something that was hidden and formless. He tried to advise the ones who advised him that they should fight this Shadow that fed and lived off their blood and thoughts, but he could nothing but dismiss them when they asked for leave to find this 'power.' Of those who had left in this way, none had ever returned.

    He was sitting, alone, on a carven stone bench, next to the White Tree of Gondor. It was still in full bloom, as beautiful as the snow on the forests that grew near Anduin. His head was in his hands, and he was despairing, wondering what he should now do, and grieving for all the men of his palace that had left and never returned. In the corner of his mind, he felt the Darkness grow, taking root in his despair, and he fought it angrily, and it strove for mastery of him, a willful power fighting him for control. He grasped his head tighter, and thought, _You__ will not have me, you will not have me, foul Darkness of death._ It seemed to speak back in harsh, cruel tones, _Come to me, verily you come to me, and I will gift you with power greater than all. And Aragorn, summoning up all his courage, spoke back: __Nay, you filthy traitor! For the time is come when all must be decided, and I will never help you, I will only hinder you by all power that lieth within me. At this, the Darkness seemed to quail, and it shrunk, back into its corner, as a beaten dog would, without a whimper._

    A guard, clad in the raiment of Gondor, stepped up to him. His helm shone in the sun, and glittering white was his spear, and when Aragorn looked up, the guard saluted him, and spoke in low tones. "There is someone who wishes to see you, my lord. Strange he is..." and at this the guard trailed off, and Aragorn said, "Strange? What do you mean by that? Is he a foul being of Mordor?"

    "Nay, my lord! He is good, and he has travelled long to seek you. But he is no Man, and he is not as fair-faced as the Elves. Nor is he like the little halflings, the laughing people. He is...he is...a new being, my lord. And he speaks the Common Tongue, and that of the Rohirrim. He is tall, and young, and his eyes are as dark as the night skies." The guard watched Aragorn anxiously, and Aragorn smiled at him, and said, "You need not be so anxious, my good man, you may send him in."

      The guard turned heel and walked away, straight and tall in the bright sun. Aragorn watched him depart with tired eyes, for the constant turmoil in his mind had left him weary. He stood up, his mail gleaming cold in the sun, his sword burning with keen fire, and strode about the gardens where the Tree blossomed. He was thinking about the Darkness, and the shadow that grew unquiet in him, and he wondered if he would ever be free of its torment. It was then that he noticed the stone that lay in the earth at the base of the White Tree.

      Its glint caught his sharp eye, and he knelt down under the Tree and picked it up. It was a blazing silver, brighter than _mithril,_ brighter even than Telperion, the Tree of Silver. It waxed and it waned, sometimes a silvery flame, sometimes a dull glow of grayish light. Aragorn was amazed, for in all his years and travels, he had seen nothing of its kind before, certainly not in Gondor. It felt light in his hands, strangely light, and he wondered if it was of elf-make. It seemed so, being full of its own power. He wondered if he should show it to Arwen, and if she would know what it was. But his heart told him to keep it secret, since it seemed to be a secret that had been revealed to him. He placed in in his deepest pocket, and not a second too soon, for the flashing light off the guard's helm told him he was coming back. Aragorn returned to his bench and sat, and waited.

    The guard led a young man, who was clad in black breeches and shirt, with a gray weatherstained cloak wrapped about him. His feet were bare, and Aragorn saw a sword that hung at his side. He stared into Aragorn's eyes, and Aragorn could feel himself being searched by that keen glance. But then he spoke, and his voice was clear and deep, like the oceans of afar. 

   "I wish to speak with you in private." At this, the guard glanced at Aragorn questioningly. Aragorn searched the stranger with his eyes, and seeing no malice in his eye, nor evil in his hand, he motioned to the guard to return to his post. Warily, the guard backed away and left them alone near the White Tree.

   "Who are you?" Aragorn asked, his voice carefully calm.

   "Me? I am Tiansom. I need not tell you more, for you will learn in your own time. But I have come to seek your help."

  "What help do you need of Gondor?"

   "Nay, I did not say Gondor! I said you. I need your help, Aragorn heir of Isildur, son of Arathorn. Your own help."

  "And what help do you require from me?"

  "I require nothing. But I know why you doubt me. I know what you feel. For I have seen it, and I have seen its undying Evil. You are not alone in your suspicions." He lowered his voice to a whisper, and spoke, "He is back, my lord. The Enemy of the World has returned to his former kingdom." Aragorn straightened, and spoke softly and piercingly. "How do you know this?"

  Tiansom paused, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow. "I have seen him. I have spoken with him. Formless he is, a red blaze in the sky and a black shadow on your heart. He is the Unquiet, the Enemy of All." 

   Aragorn looked at him sternly. "You do not lie, do you? For if you do, then my sword will cleave your neck."

  Tiansom pulled a grim face. "You know of what I speak. You know that it is true. But all hope is not lost."

    Aragorn looked at Tiansom sadly. "Morgoth fooled even the wisest of the Noldor with his fair words and dark intentions. He cannot be defeated, save by the Valar alone, and they have forsaken Middle-earth now that the High Elves, their children, have left. The Silvan and the Sindarin Elves have chosen Middle-earth, and the Valar will not save them unless it be the gravest of dangers."

    Tiansom looked at him, anger smoldering in his black eyes. "If you despair without hope, then Morgoth has already won. But I do not speak with blind hope, we have a weapon, a weapon that has chosen to reveal itself now. I have been pondering it, through long journeys, and even whilst I speak with you. But I believe I finally know what weapons Iluvatur has gifted us with to fight the Dark Lord, Morgoth."

    Aragorn stared, temporarily lost of speech, and then he spoke, "What is this weapon, or weapons, that you speak of?"

   Tiansom paused for a second, and then said, "The Nine Stones."

   Aragorn started, and said, "The Nine Stones? They are...they are legend, even for the lords of the Eldar. The Nine Stones: of Fire, Water, Plant, Rock, Star, Wind, Sun, Night, and the greatest, Heart. They were crafted by a power beyond Feanor, beyond any of the Elves, perhaps even the Valar. They were said to be laid down in the heart of this World when Iluvatur made it, and they were wrought with the Secret Flame, beyond all eyes, even probing Morgoth's. They, when reunited, for they were separated when the Valar crafted this young world, will produce but a fragment of the Secret Fire of Iluvatur. Its light is enough to vanquish all traces of Evil."

   "Which is precisely why Morgoth seeks it. I believe the time of the Stones has come, that they will reveal themselves to the Keepers, who will reunite them on the peak of Mount Shiaom, in the land of Rhun, and thus bring down the Flame to destroy him! He is afraid, and he seeks for the Stones and their Keepers, to destroy them forever. And perhaps, that is why he built Thangorodrim around the mountain, for that is the only place where the Flame will come down. And thus, our quest is laid bare, to find the Nine who are worthy of being Keepers, and head to Thangorodrim to destroy Evil!"

   "Speak soft! Fell ears are about, and Morgoth has spies!" Aragorn warned. A flame kindled in his eyes, and he spoke softly, "Behold! The Stone of the Star! I am its Keeper!" He pulled the silver stone from his pocket, and it blazed forth with a light that would have blinded the Sun, and Tiansom, had he not shielded his eyes. "Yes, the Stone of the Star," said Tiansom with a smile, "and I carry with me the Stone of Fire, for I feared you would distrust me. Here it is!" And doing as Aragorn had done, he showed him the fiery orange stone, which blazed mightier than Orodurin or the evil fires of Mordor.

     "So the Keepers meet. And now we must find the rest of the Nine who walked against the Red Eye of Mordor, for I feel that they are the ones who will be gifted with the Stones."

     "Alas! The Ring-bearer, Frodo, has passed across the Sea to Valinor, from which mortals can never return, for it is a hidden land, and the Doom of the Valar lies upon it, and it shall never be shown to those who choose to return to this, the Forsaken Land."

    "But I am no mere mortal," said Tiansom with a small smile. "Doubtless as your guard has told you, I am not any mortal in the Long Lists. Provide me with a ship, and I will sail! I will sail from the West to the Ancient West of the Valar! And I will return with the Ring-bearer! Gather the remaining of the Nine to you, and I will return with the Ring-bearer."

    "But, my good friend," said Aragorn, "the coast is far, and shipbuilding is a skill not known to us. I know that deserted boats scatter the coasts, and so I will offer you this: the swiftest steed of Rohan so your journey will be shortened, and some proper armor and weaponry. In the meanwhile, I will gather the others in our Fellowship to me, and we will await you. But, what if they do not bear the Stones?"

    "The Stone reveals itself to those whom it deems worthy, and this Fellowship you speak of is more than worthy of the Nine Stones. They will have them, or they will find them. Worry not, for where the Keeper goes, the Stone goes."

    "Then so said, I will send a messenger to Rohan for their finest steed, and I will give you a coat of a mail and the raiment of Gondor."

    "Let it be," said Tiansom.


	4. The Journey to Tolfolas

Chapter 4: The Journey to Tolfolas

         "The sunshine feels good on your face, doesn't it, Merry?" Pippin asked as the two hobbits strolled lazily on the banks of the Brandywine River. Merry and Pippin were going to the _Green Dragon_ in Bywater when Merry decided to walk alongside the Brandywine, for no reason whatsoever save that he wanted to, and so they did. "Merry? You're quieter than a hawk on its perch, and that is saying something. What is wrong, cousin?" Merry turned to him, and said with a smile, "I am thinking, Pippin. Nothing is wrong with me. But look!" Merry pointed to a mound of earth and rock, "What is that glowing there?"

   "What are you seeing, dear cousin? I should say, I am a little too old for such tricks." But Pippin nevertheless looked in the direction Merry was pointing in, and he could see a glint of something glowing too,in the mound, and by the base of a tall pine that was growing close to the river. "What is that? Not there... but over there, by the base of the tree, Merry." Merry now looked in the direction Pippin was looking in, and he could see a faint glow. "I see it, cousin! What do you think it is? Bilbo's old treasure? Maybe Sam has stumbled on something. After all, he did inherit Frodo's fortunes."

    "No, but why don't we investigate? I will look at the base of the tree. You can look in that frightening mound."

    Merry felt a strange desire to find whatever was that was glowing and claim it for himself. He looked at Pippin, and he could see in his eyes that he felt the same feelings too. "Okay, my good Pippin! I will investigate that mound, since you are obviously too frightened to do so!" He ducked a swing from Pippin and walked slowly up to the piles of earth and stone. 

    He found it before he saw it. It was a stone, a stone that glowed a warm yellow, a beautiful yellow, as bright as liquid gold, as pale as the sun behind the clouds, for it was the Stone of the Sun. He lifted it up in his hands, and he felt the warmth billowing out of the stone as if he had sunk into a hot bath. He ran his fingers over it. It was not cracked or scratched, and no stains marred its graceful, timeless beauty. Merry knew in the depths of his hobbit-heart that this was not an ordinary stone, for nothing could be more beautiful, save for the Sun herself. He looked sideways at Pippin, who was turned away from him, pottering about the base of the pine, and carefully, as if he did not want to stain it with his touch, he put it in his pocket. Then he arose, and felt a great warmth inside of him, he felt joy and carefree laughter spread through his veins, and he laughed to himself, clear and soft.

     Pippin felt drawn to the glow before he saw its cause. He brushed away dirt and leaf with his hands, and beheld what no other mortal or immortal will ever behold: a clear stone, as clear as glass, darkening sometimes to the lightest grays and blacks. Here lay the Stone of Wind, created by the greatest of powers and hidden from all only until its time, and its Keeper, found it. Pippin felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his mind, as if he had found what he had been seeking for all his life. He reached out with both hands, and lifted the stone, which was lighter than a feather, and he thought that if he dropped it, it would not fall, but hang in the air like a drop of dew. He felt it. It was not warm, and it was not cold, but it felt fluid and breezy, as if it was the wind made solid. Looking around to see that no one could see him, he put the stone in his pocket, and arose. He felt a light wind in him, blowing, rushing carelessly through his blood, and it filled him with joy.

     "Well, Merry! What have you found?" he said, and his voice was as ringing and as toneful as the wind through the mountains.

      "I have....I have found a stone made of the Sun. It glows a beautiful yellow....it is more precious to me than all the gold in the world!" Merry said joyfully, his voice bright and clear. He felt the cloak of secrecy removed from him, and he suddenly knew that there was no wrong in Pippin knowing what treasure he bore with him. He drew the stone from his pocket, and said, "Behold! The stone of the Sun!" Pippin gazed in wonder at its beautiful glow that shimmered delicately like the threads of a harp. Merry put it back in his pocket, and said, "So, my cousin, you have seen the treasure of this Brandybuck! What then have you found?"

     "Look upon this, and wonder!" Pippin drew the Stone of Wind from his pocket in turn, and Merry looked at it, his mouth agape, for nothing so clear and that looked so fragile could have withstood even the lightest touch of a hobbit's finger. But there it was, light gray, and then as clear as ice, and shifting and shimmering like a shadow upon the wind. Pippin put it carefully back in his pocket, laughed at Merry's stunned look, and said happily, "So, cousin! On to the _Green Dragon_?" 

      Merry smiled, replying, "Yes cousin, I believe that this is a good time for a drink and good food."

       "He is magnificent." Tiansom proclaimed, eyeing the graceful white steed that Eomer had lent to Aragorn. "All the pride of the Rohirrim, all their love for their beasts, is in him. His skin shines like moonlight, his mane is thick and flowing. Truly he is greatest of all the horse-kind!"

     "Nay," laughed Aragorn, "none, even this fellow, can rival the King of Horses, Shadowfax. He alone was the greatest, and you have not beheld his speed and power yet. But I do not doubt that this is a horse of great breed."

      "Now to more serious matters, my good friend. Is it safe to go clad in the raiment of Gondor? For the Enemy is unceasing in his hatred for all that is fair and beautiful, and I do not wish for me to be the cause of him setting his foul hand in this fair city. I would never live for another day with that guilt hanging like his Shadow over my head!"

      "Worry not, Tiansom! If the Enemy chooses to follow, then he will know not that you are of Gondor, for he is older than the city or the land, and his roving eyes will only be fixed on what you carry with you: the Stone of Fire. Spies abound here, I doubt not, but you and our dealings have so far remained in the greatest secrecy. So go on, with the speed of the wind, and may Elbereth protect you from all that is fell in this world!"

     "Goodbye, dear Elessar!" cried Tiansom as he mounted the steed with no saddle or bridle. "May you always remain true to what is right, and be wary of all paths that seem easier! I go now, to find the land from which no mortal has ever returned! Goodbye! And may the stars guide your way, Elfstone!" With these parting words, he whispered into the ear of his steed, who shot off into the darkening South, and was soon lost to Aragorn's sight.

    "Goodbye, my dear friend, and may you return with merry tidings of all who dwell in the Blessed Realm," whispered Aragorn, and he strode back into his castle from the Garden of the White Tree, where Tiansom, son of Sauron, had embarked upon the greatest journey that was, or ever will be made by a mortal, save for the journey of the Fellowship.

        He had ridden for a night and a day, when the Shadow began to follow. He felt its foul presence, for his heart was heavy with dark thoughts and mindless shadows. He was close to the Bay of Tolfolas, where many a mariner had laid down anchor in the days when the Eldar were still plentiful in Middle-earth. He slowed the steed, for his heart was overflowing with doubt, and he looked around him, surveying the empty treeless plains with a keen eye. His hand crept to his sword-hilt, and his other hand pressed the Stone of Fire to his breast. He was clad in silver and black, with the White Tree embroidered upon his coat and cloak. Unknown to him, Arwen Evenstar herself had made these garments at Aragorn's bidding, and an Elvish power lay within them. He was invisible in the dark, and his shadow was faint, for the power of the High Elves of Luthein's line, to which Arwen belonged, was strong.

      But there are powers greater than that of the Eldar, and the wraiths of Thangorodrim lived in the shadow-world of that power. They sensed Tiansom's blood and beating heart long before he sensed their dark thoughts. They too were clad in black, with silver coats of mail under their black cloaks and hoods. They rode no horses, as their weaker Nazgul brothers had, but moved swiftly like owls in the night air. They were faceless and formless, but they handled swords and other instruments of death or torture with ease. The leader, who had on garments of silvery gray to indicate his rank, drew his sword, which was the deadliest ever forged: the Sword of Thangorodrim, made for the Lord of Wraiths. It had the darkest curses carved on blade and hilt, and it was a black blade, fouled with stains that could never be cleaned. The mere touch of the blade to skin would kill all those who lived in service of the Secret Fire. It was an evil older than Sauron himself, for it was crafted by Morgoth, and gifted to the Lord Wraith, who was his chief slave.

       Tiansom drew his sword out, for he could smell the Evil that lay heavy in the air. It glowed ceaselessly, a deadly blue and flaming red. In its light, he made out the form of the Lord Wraith, and his nine followers, who had surrounded him quietly while he had stared in horror at the Lord Wraith. Tiansom cursed, and the Lord Wraith looked at him, his sword in hand, his unseeing eye fixed on Tiansom. "_You fear a power...a great power that could gift you all that you desire...why do you fear the Lord of Lords?_" he hissed, looking at Tiansom's face. At that instant, the horse of Rohan took fright and fled, disappearing into the darkness that now encompassed Tiansom. "I will not ever go back to the service of the Dark Lord. I have waited twenty-five years for freedom. And never again will I go back." The Lord Wraith snarled, and hissed, _Ten__ there are of us, and only one of you, for your beast has fled our terror. How, you young fool, will you withstand the wrath of the Lord of the Wraiths, Bearer of the Sword of Thangorodrim?"_

       Tiansom fixed his eyes on his enemy, and he pressed the Stone ever closer to him. His fingers ran over the embroidered Tree of Gondor on his coat, and he felt, for some strange reason, lightened of his load. "You speak not to any mere mortal, Lord Wraith. I am Tiansom, Bearer of the Stone of Fire!"

       With that, the Lord Wraith uttered a terrible cry, and lowered his sword in a sweeping stroke. Tiansom blocked the blow with his own sword, which broke at the force of the blow, and the evil of the one who dealt it. Tiansom drew out the sword which Aragorn had given him, but though it was of good craftsmanship, it was nowhere near the lineage of his own sword, and it felt heavy and unwilling in his hand. The Lord Wraith laughed, a high wailing screech of a laugh, and smote Tiansom with the flat of his sword-blade. Tiansom fell, and his sword slipped from his grasp, and fell heavy at the feet of the Lord Wraith, who laughed as the blade of Tiansom melted away into the air, unable to withstand the evil of the Lord.

         Tiansom felt his head hit hard stone, and he was lying prone at the feet of the Lord Wraith, as if he was a beast of sacrifice. The Nine Wraiths of Thangorodrim surrounded him in the manner of ghastly vultures, wailing in cold tones, screeching high calls of death. He felt a foul pain in his chest, and he knew that one of the Wraiths, though not the Lord, had stabbed him in his heart. The blade was cold, and the blood that welled from his wound was little, for he was freezing, chilled as all the wraith's victims are. His hand groped weakly at the Fire-stone in his pocket, and he drew it out, and it blazed forth, but it was already very late, for his eyes had already closed, and his blood had stopped flowing out of the wound in his heart entirely. The screams of the wraiths were all that filled his ears, and the Stone of Fire was all that his hand could feel as he lay still and knew no more.


	5. The Revelation

Chapter 5: The Revelation

  (A/N: For those of you who've read Unfinished Tales, I know I've done a bad job describing Ulmo. I tried my best.)

     It was a dark night when Tiansom finally arose out of his troubled dreams and distant, deathly sleep. The Wraiths of Thangorodrim had vanished, leaving naught but a few traces of themselves. The Stone of Fire was blazing hot in Tiansom's palm, and it had flamed so viciously hot that it had burned his hand black. He blinked slowly, his numb hands finally regaining some painful feeling. He pushed himself off the stony ground, and he looked around, confused. There were no wraiths, there was no horse, there was no sign of living being at all.  The memories came back to him in a flash, and he reeled, remembering the unseeing glare of the Lord Wraith, and the blade that had pierced him, and had sent him spiraling into dark dreams and a deathless sleep. He was shivering with cold and fear, and his lips were the pale blue of near death. He pressed the Stone to his chest, and it warmed him, and it spread life through him, and he felt and knew that the Shadow that had darkened his mind in terror was fleeing from the flames of warmth that the Stone passed into him with every beat of his still-living heart.

      He breathed slowly, and deeply, and the chill wind howled around him, and his body felt cold. His clothes were ragged, for the Wraiths had slashed them mercilessly when he laid half-dead at their feet. But, he said to himself, they hadn't left him naked to freeze to death, so he was lucky. The wraiths had not taken his pack either, and that was something as well. His cloak was still whole, and so he wrapped it about himself, and carefully placed the now softly glowing Stone into his pack. He couldn't bring himself to move another step, though he knew he had lain there for days and not hours. He listened silently to the wind, and in its lonely howls he could almost hear the great Sea and the pale ghosts of ships and Elves and Men gone long past from this world. The sound of the Sea and the Wind stirred up his heart, and he felt the pride and wonder of generations that had stood atop these lands and gazed in sorrow and gladness to the Great Sea. He arose from his seated stance clumsily, and began to walk, barefoot and half-naked, towards the shores and the Great Sea.

    Frodo was sitting silently atop a small hill in the forest not far from Elrond's realm. He watched more than he spoke now, and every year he went to these woods, where Bilbo had breathed his last in peace. He gazed at the golden flowers and the soft grass that tickled his toes, and he watched the leaves of trees as high as mountains glisten like silver and gold in the rays of the Sun. He watched the graceful swans fly overhead, calling down to him as they flew noiselessly in the soft breeze. There was no sickness in the Blessed Realm, and no hurts. But Frodo still felt his wound from the Lord Nazgul grow cold and sharp, and it pained him, and troubled his mind. He knew now that the time had come, as it had not so long ago, to seek a change. But the Blessed Realm was ageless, and changes never passed over it, except in the Eldar Days when the Trees glowed. He grieved to remember all that had been left behind in the Forsaken Land, and knew now that his last thread of hope lay on a stranger, a stranger who might never pass the terrible waves and deadly fogs that the Valar had set around their realm.

    He was staring silently now into the distance, staring at the Great Sea and its dark and terrible splendor. He thought about the Darkness that grew unchecked in the land of Middle-earth, and hot anger flashed in him at the thought that the Valar would lay quiet until Morgoth was a Great Darkness again. His hands clenched tightly, and he closed his eyes, calming himself. He opened them a second later, and noticed that at the bottom of the hill, near the lake into which Bilbo's river (as he liked to remember it) flowed, something was glowing. It was a strange glow, not like the silver and gold of the forest, nor like the clear glow of the lake itself. It was a glow of many hues, shadows and light, sun and moon, and all the colors that had a name, and some that could not be described. He stood up, shading his eyes with his hand to make certain that it was not a trick of the Sun herself. Then he went slowly down the hill, as if he were answering an unheard call, and pushed his way through low-lying bush and plant to the shore of Bilbo's lake. There he saw a stone, a stone of many colors, a stone that shimmered and blazed, and darkened to the color of a Nazgul's robes and lightened to the glow of the Great Sun. He reached out, carefully, purposefully, and touched it. It was warm, and it suddenly turned colder than ice, and then it blazed like Orodurin. He grasped the stone with both hands, and lifted it. It was not heavy. Frodo looked into it, and suddenly the stone cleared, like a mirror, and Frodo gave a small cry. For now he could see someone, or something. He was wrapped in a black cloak with a white tree sewn onto it, and he was tall and raven-haired. He turned his head, and Frodo could now see his face, and he knew that he was looking at no Man or any living being he had beheld before. His eyes were dark and deep, and his skin was light. He was walking barefoot, and he seemed to have no fear. The Stone then dimmed, like a flickering candle, and shifted back into its many colors of shadow and light. Frodo, looking quickly around to see that he was not being seen, placed the stone into his inmost pocket, and suddenly, as if he knew his task was complete, he raced back through the forest to Elrond's realm of Imaldris.

  "The Sea! The Great Sea!" Tiansom shouted into the night winds as they howled tonelessly around him. He loosed his voice into a song in a strange tongue that was deep and sorrowful, and after the final note disappeared into the winds, he gazed silently at the Sea that licked the shores of the Bay of Tolfolas. As Aragorn had said, many abandoned elven-ships and boats lay scattered on the ghostly coastline, relics of an Age forgotten to most of Middle-earth. Tiansom, enthralled by the deep waves and the cold saltwater, splashed his feet in it, and as the water bubbled and jumped like a fountain, he noticed something in the dark water. It was a glowing gold-and-silver flower, a beautiful and precious thing that could never die. Tiansom stooped and picked it up, and it glowed gently in his hand. "A token," he whispered, "of a realm long hidden. But how has it come this far?" He held it in his hand, wondering over it and the mystery of its journey. With a sorrowful laugh, he placed it into his pack, and gazed across the Sea that was so dear to him, and yet the greatest obstacle he faced on his Quest.

   Suddenly, it seemed to him that a figure was in the water, a man, tall and terrible, his cloak the shadowy grays and blues of the sea, his helm a dark blue fringed with white, like the crested waves of the Sea against the shore, and his mail bright and glistening like fishes' mail. His skin was smooth and dark, and his eyes were the deep colors of the Sea and piercing, and a white horn gleamed white at his waist. He did not come to the shore where Tiansom stood, but stood back in the Sea, though even from that distance Tiansom could make him out quite clearly. The moon glinted off his robes of green and blue, and when he spoke, his voice was as deep as the fathomless Sea itself. The voice rumbled in the bones and blood of Tiansom, and he fell to his knees, his head bowed, and he lay the shards of his sword on the shore in offering.

    "Fear me not, Tiansom! For even though you are tied to the servant of the Great Enemy, I hold you not in loathing. Even in your poisoned land, and when your heart was Dark, you did not harm the streams and rivers that are my children, poisoned and dry as they may be. I have come to seek you out, for the foresight gifted to me by Iluvatur has shown me that the Enemy indeed has risen. As I was the salvation of the Noldor, and saved them from the Doom of Mandos, so shall I save Middle-earth from loss in the minds of the Valar. For even though my brethren do not wish me to reveal myself to any of those who dwell in the Forsaken Land, I have chosen to do so once, and I have done so again."

     "My lord, Lord of Waters, what do you ask of me?" asked Tiansom in a quavering voice.

    "To complete what Quest you have lain out for yourself, and to behold the Blessed Realm and return again to Middle-earth. For the Quest that you have undertaken holds the fate of all, even the mightiest of the Valar. If it should fail, then Morgoth's Darkness will become the very lifeblood of Middle-earth, and never again the Sun shine on its green, nor the pale Moon in its night. Morgoth will make war on the Valar, and all the Children of Iluvatur, Men and Elves, will be drawn into its great cataclysm, whether by choice or by force, and then darkness will fall again, on the Blessed Land and on Middle-earth."

     Tiansom trembled, but his voice was steady. "I will do as you bid, my Lord."

    "But you will not go totally unaided, Tiansom, whom I now name the Everchanger. I will put words in your mouth, and knowledge in your head, and I will give you a sword." Then Ulmo, the most knowledgeable of the Valar, drew his own sword, and seemed to fashion a smaller one from its great blade. This he cast to Tiansom, and it fell at his feet, glowing blue-gray, sheathed in a light cover of an unknown material. Tiansom cast the shards of his sword into the Great Sea with his blessing, and with the sword of Ulmo at his waist, he stood tall and still while Ulmo revealed to him the story of the Beginning, when Middle-earth was created, and the story of Morgoth taking over it when Middle-earth was still Arda, and precious in the minds of the Valar, and how the Valar had left it to create the Blessed Realm of Aman.

      The waves rumbled louder, and lightning forked the sky as rain fell from the great gray clouds. Ulmo looked at Tiansom one last time, and said, "Go now! Osse serves the Doom and will try by all means to destroy you. But you are under the protection of the Lord of Waters, and though the journey will not be pleasant or easy, you will touch the shores of Aman alive. For from the Sea comes the Salvation of Arda, and to the Sea will Arda be forever grateful. Go now! Take the smallest boat, and not the greatest ship." And with these parting words, the Lord of Waters backed slowly away, deeper and deeper into the Sea, until he and the Great Sea were one.

        Tiansom did not stand still in shock at this most extraordinary of meetings, but quickly searched among the abandoned elven-ships, and found a small boat, which was wrought of ashy-gray timber, and had white oars and oarlocks shaped like a chain of linked leaves. It was light, and tiny compared to the great wrecks of ships that lay undone on the shores. As the rain soaked his cloak, and the waves rumbled like angry bears, he pushed the boat into the sea, leapt lightly into it, and with eyes that could see through the veil of night now, due to Ulmo's grace, he rowed away from Middle-earth, in search of the Straight Path to Aman and the Ring-bearer.


	6. The Meeting of Two Worlds

Chapter 6: The Meeting of Two Worlds

   (A/N: Tiansom doesn't sing in Quenya, Sindarin, Adunaic, or the Black Speech. Whatever language he sings in, its my creation.)

    Tiansom rowed powerfully in the dark Sea, as rain poured down into his small boat. His cloak was heavy and wet, and his hood dripped into his eyes, but he kept his gaze on Earendil, the brightest star in the lightning-torn skies. His burned hand was hurting him, and the handle of his right oar was now slicked with blood and saltwater. But he rowed on, for he was steadfast in his resolve to complete the Quest that lay heavy on his shoulders, now that he was aware of what lay at stake. 

   The low hum of the waves began to grow louder, and Tiansom lifted his oars out of the water, and instead of rowing, he lay the oars in the boat, stopping its momentum, and now the boat drifted aimlessly in the depths of the Sea. The loud rush of white-crested waves grew louder, and harsher, and then mighty waves began to take form from the bowels of the Sea. They were massive waves, some the sizes of great houses, and some that could drown entire cities in deep water. Osse was aware of his presence, and so decided to play with him, for he delights in violence, and even Ulmo cannot restrain him when his desire is great.

    His voice was deep and louder than the greatest horn. He bellowed and laughed and rocked the tiny elven-boat with great waves of destruction, but even the great Maiar Osse could not loose Tiansom from his grip on the boat, for it was a grip of death and fear. Tiansom had never sailed the Sundering Seas before, and he had never been caught in the midst of Osse's wrath, for he had lived most of his life in Mordor, far from the coast. He closed his eyes in great fear, and tightened his hold on the boat so much that blood dripped from his fingers. The howling winds were fell, and drove the waves  around him, and a Voice seemed to speak in the tumult of waves and wind.

     Osse was maddened by his failure to drive the mortal from his vessel. He gathered all his strength, all his power from the Corners of the World, and produced, with exhausting, and maddening force, a great wave, a destroying wave, which reared up like an angry bear behind the small boat, intent on destroying it and its mariner. Osse was one who saved killing as a last resort, but now he was blinded by red anger and his own natural love for destruction. Tiansom saw the great black wave rear up from the intestines of the Sea, and cold fear overtook him, and he shook with uncontrollable fear and sorrow. His grip failed, and the Great Wave cast him from the boat into the dark seas riddled with tormented and wrathful lesser waves of Osse.

     The cold, deadly water awakened him, and he thrashed wildly, barely managing to keep his head above water as he floundered, weighted down with pack and soaked cloak. With one hand, he ripped the silver brooch of Gondor from his chest, and the cloak sank into the waves, heavy and sodden with water. With a muttered blessing, he loosed the brooch as well, and it sank into the depths of the Sea, never to be worn again. The boat was overturned, and Tiansom had no immediate desire to right it and climb back in, only to face Osse's wrath again. So he slung himself over the top of the upside-down boat, and lay on it with arms and legs splayed over the sides, his feet and hands paddling like a dog's paws.

    Osse was calmer now, perhaps amused by the injured mortal paddling uselessly, it seemed to him, in the dark and depths of the Great Sea. Perhaps Ulmo had come to Tiansom's aid, and restrained Osse from causing any further damage. The first option seemed much more likely to Tiansom, and so, weary to the bone with the exertion of fighting the waves and nearly drowning in Osse's pools of wrath, he lay his head against the wet wood of the elven-boat, stopped paddling, and lying limp, began to sing a song, slowly, in his clear voice, and in a tongue that echoed of times long before.

       _ahso calush laman a orsai_

_      dezhak tila kaoli mo poten_

_     elu mor mion-mal _

_    taso lemu kanosa tae kas-tila ura_

_   kas-tila orsai, deyo iom uruzhoi iomar  mal?_

_  iomar  mion-mal?_

_ deyo iom seyano mai iomar mal?_

_  tae ken mal iom deyo ilaniae?_

_kas-tila orsai, iom kanosa tae kas-tila ura_

_noxo mo osthonmai mo mion-mal_

_mal mor iomar toructh_

_mal mor iomar ilantia._

   Tiansom could not help but weep as he sang it, for it was a sad song, a song of longing. So weep he did, and he turned his head to look at the brightest Earendil, and as he saw the blazing pride of Varda, he wept even more, for Earendil's fate was by far the saddest he could think of, to wander the skies forever, and never feel the earth of his homeland again.

    The sea was now slow, and moved quietly, as if it wished not to disturb the now-sleeping young singer who had calmed the violence of Osse with a single song of sad longing. The waves pushed the boat further west, as if they knew his destination, and wished not to hinder him, as if they already knew that the destiny of all rested on him reaching the Blessed Land to return to Arda with the Ringbearer.

    "Legolas, what is wrong, my good friend?" Gimli asked the wood-elf as he paced restlessly amongst the old, and great, trees of the forest of Mirkwood. Gimli had come to Mirkwood from the far reaches of the dwarf kingdoms of the Misty Mountains to visit his closest friend and ally, and Legolas had been anxious and quite jumpy ever since he had arrived. Indeed it seemed as if he were lost in dark thoughts, and he often muttered to himself in Sindarin, which Gimli knew little of, and shook his head as if to clear it of some inner demon that lay prowling inside.

    "Nothing, good Gimli, nothing! I perceive darkness where darkness cannot be, and I suppose I am wrong."

    "What do you mean, Legolas? You hide nothing from me, and I seem to know you better than you think. You perceive a darkness, a terrible darkness, that will arise and bring sorrow to the lands of fair Middle-earth. And you fear to tell me that it is so because you know that I will worry, and you wish to see me not worrying. Am I not correct?"  
     "Nay, Gimli, you are correct, as always," said Legolas, with a quivering laugh. "But how do you know of this? For the Dwarves, unless I am very much mistaken, do not have the inner sights of the Elves."

      "We may not have inner sights, Master Elf, but we do have good friends in far lands. Aragorn has sent me a message, requesting my presence at Minas Tirith. He has told me that only the Fellowship that was made to destroy the One Ring will be there."

      "A council of the Fellowship? All of the Fellowship? That is odd, considering that I thought before that Aragorn knew that Frodo and Bilbo went across the Sea."

    "He seems to know that, and more than he is telling us, I am quite sure. But let us not worry of that! The journey is long, and we must make the greatest haste, he requested. I have tarried long enough here, and that is only at your request, good friend. We must both set out to Gondor before nightfall."

     But Legolas' eye had already caught something else. "Gimli," he whispered in a low voice, "what is lying behind you?"

       Gimli turned around quickly, expecting some foul servant of the Darkness to spring out of bush or tree to attack. But he saw no such thing, instead, he saw a glow, a pale glow. It had a source, for it was not spread out over the entire forest, instead, it radiated in a small patch of brush and shrub beyond the great tree he was standing under. Legolas, too, had seen another glow, though not from the same area, for the glow he saw he was quite close, radiating from the ground under the tree on the other side.

       "I will look at that brush-shrub over there, and you, Legolas, you can look for signs of danger, for your eyes are sharper than mine."

      To this Legolas agreed, and Gimli carefully stepped up to the shrub, shielding his eyes slightly, for if the glow was malicious, he wished not for it to harm him. He reached down with an arm shielded in a sleeve of strong dwarf-mail, and picked up the stone his hand fell upon. He knew it was stone, for how many times had he himself rubbed finger against rock when mining in the caves of the Misty Mountains, and in Dale under the Lonely Mountain? But as his fingers clenched tighter upon it, he knew that it was no stone he had seen before. Looking down at it, he smiled, for it was a stone of glistening black rock, beautiful rock that was banded in many colors when it  was held  to the light, and jet black in the shadows of the trees. He ran trained fingers over it, and it was smooth and undamaged, and Gimli intended to keep it as it was, and not mar it ever with chisel or axe.

      Legolas, his curiosity unsatisfied, had walked around the tree to the other side to investigate the other glow. He gasped as he lay his eyes on its source, and his heart beat hard in his chest, and he felt a deep longing. He reached down to pick up the stone that had captivated him so, and his eyes welled with tears unshed since he had heard the gulls' cry nearly a year ago to the day. The stone was a dark blue, and sometimes a shadowy lighter blue, and it felt cool and smooth to his touch. For this was the Stone of Water, the Stone of the Sea, and it had awakened a hidden desire of Legolas', to go and seek the Sea, and sail upon it to the land of his forefathers. But he knew that this great, this precious stone alone could satisfy his desire until he saw the Sea with his own eyes. For in it were all the colors of the Sea, and it was a stone that would remain undestroyed even after all else was marred and destroyed.

      Legolas' eyes shimmered as he called to his friend. "Gimli! Gimli! Look upon this and know why all the Firstborn desire the Sea!" Gimli beheld it, and he smiled at its beauty, and at his friend's happiness.

      "Now, Legolas, look upon this, and know why all Dwarves seek the treasures below the ground." And Gimli revealed the Stone of Earth to him, and Legolas smiled at its dark splendor. 

     "And now, Master Legolas," said Gimli after tucking the stone away into a pouch that hung at his waist, "we journey together to Gondor."

   "Yea," said Legolas, and then he lowered his voice, saying, "for the Time has come when the Doom of all must be decided, or be broken forever."

      Tiansom felt cold and chilled, and his heart seemed to beat slow, and he felt in his mind that he was trapped in great cages of snow and ice, and not a drop of water fell to his thirsting lips. _Tae morvlzhum! Deyo inmaya lomona mai seho? Zomorto inmaya! Zomorto inmaye mort ysukra! _ His dream grew cold and harsh, and the pain of many whips striking his skin, drawing blood, and having pleasure in it, seemed to encompass his mind's now-feeble protests against the pain.  _Seho deyam toruma, seho deyam toruma...seho toruma...sealka moraho seho..._

      He blinked. It had been a dream, and though he felt weary, as if he had fought a great battle unaided, he knew it had been a battle that had existed only in his mind. He was still splayed on the boat, stomach down, so he reached his hand down to paddle in the direction he had thought was west.

     His hand touched sand.

     His eyes widened, they were half-closed, and now they were wider than when he was well-awake. He closed his hand upon it, and drew it up, and opened his palm when it was closer to his face. It was fine white sand, pure white, and in it was a great opal. He clasped his hand upon the opal, and it was smooth, and unstained, and delicate. Then he gently let it fall to the shore, for shore he was on now, and his boat was unharmed, save that the oars were missing. His pack lay heavy on his backside, and he let himself tumble gracelessly off the boat and onto cold, hard land. He smiled, and he laughed softly, his laugh gentle and clear, and his eyes alight with unburned curiosity. But first, he arose clumsily, and rather shakily, to his limbs, and turned East towards the Sea, and in a soft voice, sang only two lines to the Lord of Waters.

       _Seho elbuana iom, lhaona Tasih mor oriomo_

_       Taso seho ndamen mo pomlao iomer Ndanome._

    After the soft song, he laid his hand on his sword-hilt, and glanced around, and he heard soft feet patter near him. He did not wish to kill unless he was attacked, and so he let go of the hilt, instead, he called in the softest of voices, "Who are you?" 

     The patter stopped, and then slowly started up again, and out of the forest of great golden trees came a small creature, about half his height, maybe a little less, with curly, thick brown hair and thick, woolly hair on his feet, which were bare. His face was smooth and round, and he looked surprised, and shocked. Tiansom, with his own shock, realized how he must appear to the stranger, who was clad in grey elven-robes. Tiansom's own garb was slashed and wet and worn, and after a moment of embarassed silence, the stranger spoke.

     "I...I am a hobbit, Frodo Baggins, the Ringbearer." he said. 

     "A hobbit?" said Tiansom, pleased. "Hobbits are merry, laughing folk. I am pleased to meet one. I remember you, the Ringbearer, from all the songs that are still sung in Gondor. But I suppose I could make one up on my own!"

      _ Hobbits, tae yumo-daionme,_

_      Tasilya lomane, sailai omown._

   "That is good, though I do not understand the tongue."

     "Forgive me, for it is my native speech. And I have not introduced myself. I am Tiansom, the Everchanger. I have sailed the Great Sea from Middle-earth to find you, Ringbearer. For now you bear an even greater load, though not as troublesome, if my suspicions are correct."

     "What do you suspect? I bear nothing," lied Frodo.

     "Lie not to me, for I too bear a Stone. And lies are easy to detect in those who are not skilled at telling them. Here is my secret. I would willingly dispose of it, but now I am bound to a Quest, _Ndanome_ in my tongue, and I show it to you." He then undid his pack from his shoulders, opened it, and drew the Stone of Fire out. It glowed soft orange this time, and Frodo knew then, that this was the stranger who was foretold to be his savior from the immortality of Valinor and the Great City of Valimar.

     "I trust you now," Frodo whispered, and he drew the Stone from his pocket. Tiansom let out a soft hiss of surprise, and whispered urgently, "Keep it safe, for you bear the greatest one, though you do not yet comprehend its power."

      "What must I do with it?"

    "You will know when you must. But first we must leave this Realm to head back to our own." 

    "None who enter Imaldris in Valinor will leave it again," said a new voice. Tiansom turned up sharply, and his eyes registered cursed surprise, for an Elf clad in the raiment of Imaldris, with bow in his hand and arrows in his quiver, had stepped up to him, his own eyes registering geniune shock at seeing a mortal alive on the shores of Valinor.

      Then it seemed as if a different voice spoke from within him. "Talohir, long hath this coming been foretold. Do not seek to hinder the Everchanger of the Lord of Waters. For as all the Firstborn, and the greatest of the Edain can feel, the Time has come when all will be decided, and a new Theme will replace the old one that has been spun for so long. The Ringbearer will bear his load with mine, and to bear it, we must journey back to the Forsaken Lands."

     Talohir's eyes were wide as he spoke. "I cannot seek to set a doom upon one who has no malice, and claims to be the Everchanger of Ulmo. Only the Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel, and Olorin as well, can decide your fate. Come with me, and in the fair city of Imaldris shall your doom be laid upon you. Ringbearer, you are free to take your leave."

     Frodo's voice was firm. "I will not abandon the one who's friendship I have just taken. His doom I shall share, whether it be foul or fair."

    Talohir looked from one mortal to the other, and knew that Frodo was set in his decision. "Very well then, Ringbearer. To Imaldris we go."


	7. The Challenge of Nienna

Chapter 7: The Challenge of Nienna

          Tiansom was not bound by chain or strap, nor were any guards following him save for Talohir, who was leading him. Frodo walked unusually soft beside him, and the Elf led them into a great forest of high trees, with bark of shining dew-like silver, and leaves of fragile gold, veined with delicate crystal. When the wind breezed gently through their high crowns, the sound was musical and gentle, and Tiansom would have delighted to hear it, if he wasn't half-dead with exhaustion, trying hard not to feel the cold burn of his wraith-wound, and trying not to look foul in the eyes of the Elf. The breeze was warm, but Tiansom felt chilled, and then felt a slow burn crawl through him like a slithering snake. He breathed deep, closed his eyes, and fought off the pain.

      A flash of a fair, immortal face came to his mind. Dark was her hair, and gray was her raiment, and her eyes were dark, and they seemed to search him, and search his soul. And then he opened his eyes, and breathed a small sigh of relief. She was a dream. But dreams were, as he reminded himself, oftentimes real. He glanced at Frodo, and his eyes seemed troubled. He whispered softly to the hobbit, saying, "You needn't share in my doom. Go, and run free on these fair shores. It is what you deserve." Frodo turned his head to look at him, and seemed to consider his statement, but spoke firmly all the same. "I do not deserve a life of aching sadness, do I? Therefore I take your doom."

     "Yea, you speak true." Tiansom then turned back to Talohir, who was standing at the head of a great gate wrought of elven-glass and gold. He paused for a moment, looking doubtfully at Tiansom's garb and dark eyes, and then drawing an arrow from his quiver, he lightly struck upon the first bar of the gate. A musical tone sounded, and it ran shivering through the gate, and then from far off, there was an answering tone, and it shivered as did the first, rushing through the glass, and when the two tones met, the gate opened noiselessly, and the music ceased.

      Tiansom's eyes widened as he beheld the fair realm of Imaldris. There were no buildings, save for small huts of silvery wood that opened up to the great stars at night. The grass was soft and green under his feet, and the sky was bright blue. Flowers of every hue graced the low, rolling hills, and pathways of white stone cut through the great trees that sheltered the elven-huts. Chimes of glass and mithril hung at some doorways, and sweet, clear voices singing in the tongue of the High Elves mixed and mingled to form a great stream of healing music. A fireplace of silver was at the greatest of the elven-homes, which was built of wood and crystal, inlaid with shining gems that seemed to catch the light of the sun and the shimmering leaves of the trees.

       And it was here that Talohir was taking them, on the fair Midsummer's Day, to the house of Elrond and Galadriel, and all the High Elves who had dwelt in Rivendell in Middle-earth. Tiansom was stepping soft now, like Frodo, as if he did not want to disturb the elven minstrels who sang songs of times long before, and times yet to come. Talohir led them to the courtyard, which was built of flagged white marble, and bade them to stay there, warning them that they were being watched. The courtyard was empty, but Tiansom felt as if great, all-seeing eyes bore into him.

     "Frodo, have you ever desired to go back? Back to mortal lands, where all will perish and change?" Tiansom asked, turning down to look at the hobbit.

    Frodo looked straight at him, and his voice did not falter when he answered. "Yes, for I am mortal, and only in my own land will I find what peace I need. Here I found healing from the Darkness, but there I will find those who have saved me from it."

     Tiansom smiled, and gazed sadly off into the East. For him there would be no healing, for all he had ever known and lived for was destroyed, or forgotten. Even if the Great Enemy was vanquished, and the Valar returned to heal Middle-earth, he would wander forever, for such was his fate, to carry on without respite. 

     Frodo watched Tiansom's face turn from joy to sorrow, and felt compassion for him. He spoke softly, saying, "Do not worry, for sooner or later, your road will end, as do all roads."

      "I suppose." Tiansom said heavily, his voice thick with sorrow. Frodo smiled knowingly at him, and then saw Talohir leading not one, but three fair figures, and an older one, who bore flowing hair and beard.

        Elrond Halfelven watched the young man-like being silently, and noticed his pale skin and blue-tinged lips. He knew then that the young one had been through pain and torture, and wondered what he must be thinking now, for it was clear he had never beheld the Blessed Realm of  Valinor, or any Elven-dwelling in that case. Galadriel, wisest of the High Elves who lingered here, was searching his eyes, which were the color of shadow, but bore a great resemblance to the Numenor, and even the Elves themselves. And the third fair figure was one of the Valar, wise Nienna, Lady of Wisdom, who often dwelt in the Halls of Mandos, deep in thought and sorrow for the marred Middle-earth. But she had foretold the coming of a great presence, who, along with the Ringbearer, break the Doom of the Valar upon cursed Arda. The fourth figure, an old man, with twinkling blue eyes and gray hair and beard, clad in white elven-robes and bearing a carven staff, was Olorin, wisest of all the Maiar.

        Nienna spoke first. "You are tired, and weary, mortal of Arda. But in your eyes, a deathless flame burns, and on your tongue, words that were never meant to be spoken are waiting to be heard. And a sword that gleams cold and bright is girt to you. Tell me, why do you seek the Ringbearer through so much peril? For I know what you have endured, Tiansom. Indeed, I know more about you than you do yourself."

       Tiansom's voice was clear when he spoke, and in his eye a gleam burned ceaselessly. "Then you must know why I seek the Ringbearer, O wise Lady of the West. He bears a treasure...no, a great power, that is needed to help the lands of Arda. Reunited with its eight lesser brothers, it will destroy all traces of evil in the Forsaken Land."

      Nienna looked at Tiansom, a cold glint in her dark eyes. "But what if the Quest fails? For you are mortals, fighting what seems to be a losing battle against a Dark Enemy much older, and much more powerful than yourselves."

       Tiansom gazed at her with shadowy eyes that seemed unfeeling to her dark hints, and he smiled. "Nienna, fair Lady of Wisdom, how have you lost hope? Is Morgoth a power to be feared even by the Valar in their impenetrable fortress? It was only by the grace of Ulmo that I journeyed here alive, and even then, Osse was intent on destroying me. You guard ceaselessly against Morgoth's trickery. You need not worry about the Valar and the Quendi who dwell here, for they are presently safe."

      "I speak not of Aman, but of Arda. I grieve for the death of Arda under Melkor. If the Quest fails, then Arda will fall into great darkness that even the Valar cannot save it from."

       Tiansom's gentle smile lingered on his face, like sunlight in dark shadow. He looked at Frodo, and then at Nienna. "Do you trust us? If you worry for a mortal land, that must mean you have great love for the mortals. Could you trust a mortal with this Quest?" He undid his pack from his shoulders, knelt down, opened it, and drew the Stone of Fire from his pack. Frodo was entranced by its warm glow, its seemingly divine power. He groped and felt his own Stone, smooth to his touch. Then Tiansom knelt at Nienna's feet, and turned his face up towards her, lifting his hands up with the Stone in them.

       "Do you want it, Lady Nienna? Do you wish to be the Keeper?" Tiansom said, his eyes flashing. "For you look upon the Stone of Fire, and its Keeper. Only I could give it to you, Lady Nienna, only I. Do you want it?"

        Nienna stretched out a pale white arm, but instead of taking the Stone, she gently touched Tiansom's face. "You have shown your greatness, Tiansom, Everchanger of Ulmo. For only one who has the greatest strength of mind and spirit could have forsaken a Stone that _is_  them, for these Stones are extensions of their Keeper's spirit, which explains their greatness. You have passed the challenge, Tiansom!" 

       "I have forsaken much," Tiansom whispered softly, and then his clear voice rose in song.

                _Long have I traveled on roads not looked for,_

_               In the lands where the Sun meets the Moon._

_             Long have I journeyed, far from the fires of home._

_            O home! Sweet home! Long have I been away from you!_

_           The frost grows clear, and the cold draws near,_

_          And yet I stand on hills to see the stars gleam bright,_

_         O home! My home! When will I look upon you!_

       And then a smaller voice, but just as clear, joined his song, and Tiansom looked up to see Frodo, who was singing with him, a single tear staining his face.

       _And now I walk, in lands far and high,_

_     Waiting for the sun to shine, and the moon to glow,_

_    And when I dream alone, I dream of you,_

_   O home! My home! I will never come back to you!_

_  For my journeys have tired my weary feet,_

_ And now I must seek what lies beyond this world,_

_O home! Sweet home! Never shall I forget you!_

_Even when I am safe and ever joyful_

_Beyond the circles of this world.___

    Tiansom's voice was again thick with his sorrow, and his tears welled in his eyes, though they did not fall. He stood up, walked over to Frodo, and kneeling down before him, gave him a hug. Frodo hugged him back, and then, Tiansom stood tall again, and looked at the four who were to decide his fate. Lady Nienna was smiling in deep compassion, and so was the Lady Galadriel. Olorin was smiling, and Elrond's face was thoughtful.

     Galadriel spoke, "Weary is your heart, Tiansom. You must seek rest before you start your journey, and seek the counsel of the wise." She smiled at him, and he looked at her with sorrow mixed with bitterless understanding.

      Elrond smiled, and said, "Rest only as much as you need. A boat will be provided for you, and you will be given clothes and armor. And the Ringbearer will take up his sword again, and join you. Thus is your doom." He led the Ringbearer and the Everchanger to a fair sized elven-hut, which had six rooms on each side. Tiansom's hand was numb and blackened, and his wound had not gone unnoticed, for it dripped blood sporadically, the first mortal blood to be shed on Valinor.

       Elrond searched the wound with his fingers, and his face grew grave. "How did you get this wound?" he asked Tiansom, who was lying on a bed, his burned hand now wrapped in bandages with healing herbs. But Tiansom did not answer, for his eyes rolled into his head, and his skin turned deathly white, and suddenly, he let out a high, cold, wail. And he was answered, by Frodo, who too was swooning, and had dropped to the floor by Elrond. The blood flowed no more out of the wound, and it was icy to Elrond's touch. Frodo's hand was groping towards the pendant that Arwen had given him before he had left Gondor. Tiansom flailed, lay still, and then his eyes snapped open. "They are riding again, Elrond. The fathers of the Nazgul. The Wraiths of Thangorodrim." He gasped for breath, his brow sweaty and cold. Then, with urgency, he got slowly out of bed, lifted Frodo, and placed him on it instead. 

     "The Lord Wraith has not stabbed me, it was one of the lesser ones. But his power greatly affects Frodo. We must heal this wound."

   "Some wounds are beyond healing, Tiansom." said Elrond. "It will pass soon."

    "No," said Tiansom. "I will heal this wound, for it is a Nazgul creation, not like mine, and yet, not very different."  He sang slowly over Frodo's prone body, and as Elrond listened, it became a song, rhythmic, in a tongue he could not understand.

        _Osthonmai mo seho, kanosoae,_

_       Mai iom kanosa lamo mortzum_

_      Tae morvlzhum deya morteyo iom_

_      Seho deya lhaniae iom pomlao iomer Ndamone_

_    Osthonmai mo seho, osthonmai mo tae kas-tila_

_    Moar mo sehon seyono, nomoro tae zomorto morvlzhum!_

     Tiansom breathed deeply, closing his eyes to rest. 

       "Will it work?" Elrond asked, his voice grave.

     "Only time will tell," said Tiansom, and he fell asleep.


	8. The Departure from Valinor

Chapter 8: The Departure from Valinor

          His mind rested on strange dreams, and when he finally awoke, his body was weary, and his mind exhausted, as if he had struggled through immense toil to awaken. Tiansom was on the floor, and he was covered in a gray blanket. Presumably, he thought, Elrond must have decided to let him sleep without awakening him. He felt a rush of gratitude for the gesture, and slowly he arose, and stared around, his shadow-colored eyes absorbing all details without the slightest hint of emotion. Garments of shadowy grey cloth lay on the table near the mirror, and Tiansom stripped himself of his old rags and wore the new ones. They were light and silky, woven by the High Elves, and powers great and wise lay in them. Tiansom's pack was in the corner, and he went up to it and quickly undid the knots, opening it. He drew his Stone and placed in his left pocket, found the sword given to him by Ulmo and girt it to himself, and found some stale bread and chewed on that before deciding to find some food more sustaining.

        Chimes rang musically in the distance, and Tiansom heard them for a while, his eyes closed, his lips moving in silent words that none could make out. He opened his eyes, and breathed deeply, and it seemed as if a great load had left his face, for the lines of weariness had left it and did not return. He walked out of the house and onto the green grass, his soul delighting in the sunlight, and his feet soft in the young grass. He looked for someone he knew, and by a swiftly flowing stream sat the Lady Galadriel, her face wise beyond years, her expression one of those who have seen sorrows and joys uncountable. She beckoned to him, and he quietly came up to her, and sat in front of her, cross-legged, like a student in front of a wise teacher.

        "You are called a foul name, Tiansom. The meaning of it, indeed, it is foul in many tongues, and does not exist in the Elven speech. And yet, here you are, fair of face, and fairer in deed, speaking a tongue which had died out long before the Firstborn could comprehend it."

         "I will not hide anything from you, Lady Galadriel, for the effort would be in useless vain. You know of my past, for the Elven-folk are wondrous at prophecy and lore."

        "You speak fair, Master Tiansom. You betray your father, and indeed, the lord of your father, and yet you still keep the foul name he bestowed upon you."

        "Foul name hides not fair deed."

        "Yea, you speak true. For in you is bestowed the wisdom of the Valar."

        "And in my friend, the hobbit, is bestowed the greatness of the Firstborn. We are all something we deem not to be."

       "I will give you these words as a last gift, for the time to part comes, and you must be off soon. _When all is done, and all has been spoken, will you alone be responsible for the fate that you choose. When the time hast come, and you grow weary of dark night and dying moon, only then will you escape the confines of what you have set._"

        "Praise to you, Lady of the Golden Wood. And to you, I give my words as a last gift: _When the sun sails across summer sky, remember the days of golden dreams, in the land which you will never behold again. And when pale moon moans in winter night, remember the days of light in the dark._"

       "Wisely spoken, and never to be forgotten, are those words, Tiansom. The time to part comes! Lady Nienna and Lord Elrond wish to hold council with you and Frodo. And then they will give you their parting gifts, and you will depart from these fair shores, never to behold them again."

       "To the House of Elrond, then, and the Council."

           The Council consisted of few, and they were Elrond, Galadriel, and the wise Nienna, Tiansom the Everchanger and Frodo the Ringbearer, and wise Maiar Olorin. Seated on the soft grass near Bilbo's lake, it seemed more like a discussion amongst friends than a council of the great and wise. 

          "We all know the choice that lies before the Ringbearer," said Elrond gravely. "He must choose to forsake Valinor to return to Middle-earth, or he will choose to stay, in which case the Everchanger will depart from Valinor, and never return again. We also know the purpose of their Quest: to unite the Nine Stones that blessed Eru wrought, and set in the heart of Ea, so that when their time came, and the Keepers were born, they would reveal themselves and destroy all Evil that lay unbidden in the sister lands of Aman and Arda. The time has come when the Doom of the Valar and the Malice of the Enemy will contend with the Unexpected Path that Iluvatur weaves in his Theme. Will the Ringbearer depart?"

         Tiansom's gaze was not fixed on Frodo, nor were his muscles taut and tense, as if he were ready to flee Valinor if all should fail. His eyes wandered across the river and shining lake, to the trees of unstained gold and silver leaf above. He looked different, thought Nienna, he looked happy, and yet sorrowful, as if he had lost much of what he had known in times before to seek a Quest that would grant him greater joy.

         Frodo spoke, his clear voice firm and small. "I wish to depart to the lands of Middle-earth, for it was there that I was born, and it is there that I will fall defending."

         "Very well, then, Ringbearer," said Olorin with a gentle laugh, his white hair shining brightly in the sun. "I will guide you on this Quest, as I have so many times before! I was sent by the Valar to protect Arda, and now I return there of my own accord."

         "Arise then, Ringbearer and Everchanger, and receive thy gifts," said Nienna as she arose from her seated spot. She bent down and kissed Frodo's brow, and then she handed him an Elven-knife, wrought by the elven-smiths of the Noldor who had returned to Valinor far earlier than their kin. On it was traced the White Tower of Valimar, and the Two Trees of Silver and Gold. On the golden hilt, runes were carved down, and spells of good grace and protection lay on it. Frodo bowed in gratitude, but could find no words to speak. Nienna then wrapped him in an elven cloak woven by Galadriel and the ladies of the High Elves, with a brooch that glowed like a leaf of Telperion, the Silver Tree.

          She then went to Tiansom, and searched his shadowy gaze again. Then she bent and kissed his brow too, and she spoke. "Everchanger, you have been armed by Ulmo, and such weapon the greatest smith of the Noldor can never make. The Ringbearer bears a phial with the light of Earendil shining in it, and so you will always have the light of the Deathless Flame with you. You wear garments woven by the maidens of Galadriel, and they will shield you from evil eye. But for you, I have prepared this. It will aid you when you are desperate for life, and perhaps for death." And to Tiansom, she handed a silver flask of a potent liquid she had prepared. "It will never run dry, but it can only be used once every full moon, and never for a base purpose." Tiansom bowed, muttering thanks in his own tongue, and pocketed the flask.

        Galadriel then arose and held out her hands. "The shadow of parting now lies between us, and I speak to you truly: I wish not for you to depart. But perhaps, in a future I cannot see, these lands will again be united. Goodbye then, fair folk of Arda, and may the good grace of Elbereth protect you from all that is foul."

        Nienna smiled, and spoke, "I wish you well, Keepers of the Stones. Truly, your desire for Arda must be great if you wish to forsake the Blessed Realm for it. Go on, fair mortals. Go to the lands which you have always loved. And when the darkness is great, remember fair Valimar and the White Tower, and let it be a light in the everlasting darkness."

        Elrond spoke, his voice grave and deep. "Remember all who dwell here, and those who dwell no more. They will watch you, even if they are as distant as stars in the timeless sky."

        Tiansom bowed low, his eyes welling with tears once again. He arose, and saw Frodo, who was holding his tears back, but smiling sorrowfully. They both turned heel, and walked, steadily and quite quickly, as if they wished to hear the music of Valinor only as a flash in their mind. The woods enveloped the Elven-dwellings, and soon they had crossed the Gate, and when it shut with a mournful tone, they turned and only once glanced at the beautiful folk and dwellings behind it, and then set off again. The forest closed around the Gate, and it disappeared from their sight. To that fair realm they would never come again.

      On the shore there was a boat large enough for the three companions to fit in. It was carved of the immortal trees of Valinor, and its gleam was white and beautiful. There were oars for rowing, and a small white sail with the Two Trees upon it. Tiansom pushed the boat into the water, and it was steady, and so he leapt in, and set the oars in the oarlocks. "Come now!" he cried, "To Arda we go!" Olorin laughed again, and sat on one end, and Frodo on the other. Tiansom rowed powerfully, but slower now, his gaze towards Arda, and his eyes never straying to look upon the Land of the Valar. Olorin glanced briefly, almost thoughtlessly at it, and Frodo, who's eyes were shining with anticipation and sorrow, craned his neck to look back as the blank white fogs enveloped Valinor, and then he turned his sights East, and to the land of Arda.

      Osse seemed to have bent himself to the will of the Lord of Waters, and indeed, it seemed as if the slow waves were guiding them to their destination. There were no fell storms, and Tiansom did not behold the Voice of Osse as he had when he was sailing to Valinor. He raised the oars and laid them in the boat, and then he ran his hand over the surface of the cold water, whispering words of thanks. The boat needed no oarsman, for the Lord of Waters was guiding his Everchanger to the Land of Arda.

     "Where do you come from, Tiansom?" Frodo asked, watching him gaze thoughtfully to the Far East.

     "Me? I come from lands far beyond your Shire, beyond the realm of Gondor and Arnor." At this Olorin shot a quick and searching glance at Tiansom, who seemed to shrug slightly before speaking again.

     "And what of you, Frodo, of whom songs are sung in the fair halls of Minas Tirith, in the Garden of the White Tree, and by the Elves that linger on the shores of the Nimrodel?"

      "I'm a plain hobbit," said Frodo, laughing. "I've just completed a Quest, mind you, with plenty of good luck. Aragorn is a real Hero."

    "And you, Olorin, wisest of the Maiar?"

    "Me? I come from over the Sea, and I have done what task I set out to complete. It is an extraordinary feat, yes, but the Quest we currently choose to seek is even greater."

    "That is Gandalf...or Olorin, I suppose, to you." Frodo smiled as Tiansom grinned in amusement.

     "I will take neither name, you young rascal of the Shire! Mithrandir I was, and Mithrandir I will be."

    "O very well, then, _Mithrandir_." said Frodo, not caring to suppress his dry amusement.

      Tiansom smiled again, and then raised his clear voice in song.

      _O kas-tila imiahle! Deyo iom senyahe motzuo ilia ura?_

_      Toromi tae zomorto kanosoae _

_       Imiano imiahle linma tae dezhak tila!_

_       Nalo tae orsai ilia orome mo dezhain maloro!_

_        Nalo tae zorta mo laima isilnom!_

    "What does that mean? It sounds like the ancient songs of the High Elves," said Frodo. Mithrandir looked at Frodo with a smile and said, "It is a language far older than the High Elves you have known, Frodo. That is the tongue of the First Elves of the Firstborn. It is strange that anyone should know it, for Morgoth slew all the First Elves of Arda and hoarded away their scrolls and treasures. The few remaining fled to Aman, where a lesser race was created, the High Elves."

    "I will sing it again in the Common Tongue, if you wish, Master Frodo, and you can sing along with me." Tiansom sang again, and this time Frodo sang easily with him.

      _"O stars bright! Have you looked down from above?_

_       Guide the cursed wanderer_

_      Shine bright like the Deathless Flame!_

_     Lead the mariner from sea to blessed shore!  
    Lead the weary to their rest!"_

  "That is a good song. I like it, for it brings me hope," said Frodo.

  "It is not any song I have heard, and I have heard many." Mithrandir said, and looked at Tiansom, who muttered inaudibly and bowed his head.

   "Of course!" cried Frodo, laughing. "He has made it himself!"

   "Look! The Lord of Waters has indeed blessed us with luck! I see land!"

   "Land? It has hardly been a day since we set sail, and you see land?" Mithrandir cried in disbelief, and looked in the direction Tiansom was pointing in.

   "Those are the Towers at Mithlond!" Frodo cried, having looked in the same direction as well.

   "We have set a new record for crossing the Great Sea. Indeed, the grace of Ulmo must be within us, for no boat, not even the white ships of the Teleri, could have traveled as fast as we have!" exclaimed Mithrandir.

    "Yea, and to him a song I sing!" cried Tiansom.

      _"O water deep! Long has your name been forgotten,_

_       and long has your voice been ignored!_

_     O fountain sweet, long has your music been forsaken!_

_     O great ocean wide! Long has your grace been unheard!_

_    Great children of Ulmo, we thank you!_

_    And never again shall we forget you!"_

    "You are in a very happy mood, Tiansom." Frodo observed.

   "I am returning to my land, how could I not be?" he cried joyfully back, as he raised the white sail with the emblem of the Two Trees emblazoned upon it.

   "It is not far from the Grey Havens to the Shire." said Frodo.

  "Yes, we will pay your friends Master Meriadoc and Peregrin, and Mayor Samwise, a visit. But I believe Aragorn has laid down that no man shall enter the Shire."

  "Yes, but none of us are men. A wizard, a hobbit, and me!"

  "And what are you?" queried Mithrandir.

   Tiansom looked to the Far East again, and spoke softly. "My lineage is dreadful. Born to a thrall was I. One of the few remaining First Elves that Sauron had kept alive. The First Elves are wise beyond any of the High Elves, and Sauron wished to know where Morgoth had hidden the others, for they are marvellously skilled at making subtly powerful devices. So he tortured her, and through the torture, which I know little of, I was born."

   Frodo stared at him, disbelieving. "Who is your father?"

     "He was a Maiar, a servant of Aule turned to Morgoth. He was the bane of the Third Age, and he took upon himself the name of Sauron when he was the Dark Lord."

    Mithrandir smiled. "I have known, or suspected this, for quite some time. But the son is never akin to the father, neither is the heir akin to the lord, as Aragorn has proved."

    "So what are you?" Frodo asked quietly.

  "I do not know. Perhaps I am akin to Luthein Tinuviel, for she was born of a Maiar and a High Elf. But perhaps not. Who knows what I am? I am mortal, unlike my ancestors, and I do not have the fair face of an Elf or the powers of the Maiar. But look! Shore draws ever closer. Where shall we head when we have landed?"

   "Hobbiton. I would like to see Sam again," said Frodo.

  "Then to Hobbiton it is! Perhaps the hobbit-folk hold the Stones in their keeping. Who knows?"

     Mayor Samwise of Hobbiton was riding to the Grey Havens on his now-famous white pony, for today was his master's birthday, and he always did the same ever since Frodo had departed. He rode to the Grey Havens, and there, among the ghosts of the once-hidden Elven realm, he would watch the shadowy mists and dark waves of the Great Sea until his heart was lighter, and then he would ride back. Merry and Pippin usually journeyed with him, and this year was no exception, he thought smugly as he heard the clops of hooves behind his pony's.

     "Sam! Sa-am! Hold it there, you old weasel! Wait for us!" Merry called, as his own black pony breathed heavily, trying to catch up to Sam's fair white pony. Pippin was on a brown pony next to him, and then suddenly, he slapped his pony's rump, and it took off, faster than Pippin expected it to, for he let out a high-pitched shriek as the pony bounded up to meet with Sam's.

     "You'll be beating Miss Lorie at the cow-call contest next year if you keep that up, Pippin!" Merry yelled, as his pony broke into a steady gallop and caught up with Pippin and Sam.

      "No, I won't, you loon."

    "We'll see, you young rascal! You could scare the crows with that!" laughed Sam as he jiggled his pony's reins slightly.

    "Look! The Towers!" Pippin said, changing the subject hastily. "Is that a boat I see?"

    "A boat? It must be some wayward Brandybuck."

    "Do the Brandybucks own boats with white sails?"

    "Nay, but let me look at what you see, and I'll tell you if that is a Brandybuck you see." Merry shaded his eyes with his left hand, and could faintly make out the gleam of a white sail with an emblem upon it. He strained his eyes a bit more, and made out the shapes of two trees, which glinted gold and silver in the bright sun.   
   "That is no Brandybuck. But the emblem is strange. It is two trees: one of gold, and another of silver."

   "Two trees? Gold and silver, you say?" asked Sam, his eyes widening.

  "Yes. Why?"

   "The Two Trees of Valinor were gold and silver. Telperion was the Tree of Silver, and Laurelin was the Tree of Gold. Do you think....that someone has come to us from Valinor?"

   "But it is said that none may come from the shores of Valinor, Sam." said Merry thoughtfully. "Let us go see who it may be, for evil folk do not dwell under such a banner."

   "True. Let us hasten to the Grey Havens, then!" cried Pippin as he slapped his pony's rump again, and it galloped off, with Pippin gripping on for dear life.

  "We have reached shore!" cried Tiansom, as he leapt lightly off the boat and onto the sandbar. He leaned down, grabbed a handful of sand, and sprinkled it back to the ground again. "This was once an Elven-dwelling, I suppose, for the air still smells clean and fresh as if they still linger here."

   "It was the home of Cirdan the Shipwright, a bearer of Narya the Great for a time." answered Frodo as he disembarked with his shining Elven-knife girt to his side, and the cloak of Nienna around him. He lifted his pack up out of the boat, shouldered it, and breathed deeply. "The air does give you hope, does it not?"

   "Yes it does, and we must be off," said Mithrandir with a smile. "I would like to be in New Row before nightfall tomorrow."

  "That is what they call Bagshot Row, isn't it? I wish Saruman had left us in peace." Frodo said wistfully.

   "Do not let your heart be saddened, Frodo! Saruman is gone, and his evil troubles the hobbits not, for Master Samwise guides them quite well."

    "Look yonder!" cried Tiansom, who was looking to the far side of the land of the Grey Havens. "I see three small ponies, and three small figures upon them. Two of them are taller than the third, who is leading."

     "The white pony reminds me of Sam's pony, Bill, except he is much more well-fed." Frodo said, shading his eyes to look.

    "It is Sam, you fool of a hobbit! Look closely as they approach!" cried Mithrandir joyfully.

    "Sam!" Frodo shouted, overcome with joy. "Sam! Here, you old fool! Samwise Gamgee!"

       The rider on the white pony halted, and then the pony galloped toward them. Tiansom barely got out of its path, and when his head came to, for he had struck a branch while trying to get out of the pony's way, he saw another hobbit hugging Frodo and screaming with joy. Two more ponies and two more hobbits joined the fray, and soon everyone was laughing and even Mithrandir's old face was shining with young joy.

      "And who is your friend, Master Frodo?" said Sam, eyeing Tiansom, who was tall, gaunt, and rather shadowy as far as looks went, with a wary glance.

      "His name is Tiansom, and he is a descendent of Elves. He is my very good friend Sam, almost as dear to me as you and Merry and Pippin are."

     "Well, then!" said Sam happily. "Pleased to meet you, sir. I've always loved them Elves, sir. Oh, I am a ninnycock!" he exclaimed suddenly. "I didn't introduce meself. Samwise son of Hamfast Gamgee I am, sir."

    "And I am Tiansom, and pleased to meet you Master Samwise son of Hamfast! You needn't call me sir, for I am only twenty-five, and so much younger than you."

    "Yes, and I am Meriadoc son of Saradoc. And my most disrespected companion is Peregrin of the house of Took," said Merry sombrely, his eyes glinting with amusement.

     "Well, then!" cried Frodo over the voices of the throng of hobbits. "To New Row, then, Samwise?"

   "Yes, master! This a-way, Gandalf and Tiansom! The village will be an uproar tonight!"


	9. The Riders Return

Chapter 9: The Riders Return

"I hope no one notices us," said Frodo, eyeing Sam warily.

  "Well, no one will, or even if they do, no one will care, because everyone knows me and Pippin are 'strange', and Sam even worse." Merry said, smiling. "Besides, everyone in the Shire's been invited to some huge party that the Smallburrows are holding. You know what parties are like, everyone's too busy with their noses in drink and food that even a dragon would not stir them."

  "That is a relief," said Tiansom, stretching his neck and twisting his head slightly to look directly at Merry. "There are more reasons than one that your cousin has not come alone."

   Merry glanced at Pippin, and then back at Tiansom, whose shadowy eyes were now looking straight into him. He felt as if he was being searched, and then, unexpectedly, he heard a voice in his mind, a voice that asked a question. 

    _You bear a Stone, do you not?_

   Merry nodded slightly, so slight was the nod that even the sharp eyes of Mithrandir could not catch it.

     _Then you have a great task upon you, Meriadoc Brandybuck. You will know of it soon. Perhaps even sooner than you think. Be on your guard, member of the Nine._

 Merry suddenly found he could speak in his mind too, and so speak he did. _I am a Knight of the Mark. Not by foolish luck alone did I receive that title. I am ready._

     _You are ready for the Quest, but is the Quest ready for you?_

    Tiansom broke his gaze, and looked away, walking quite steadily alongside Sam's pony. Merry breathed deeply, for Tiansom's questioning had stretched further than he thought it would, and it had tired him easily.

    Mithrandir stared at Merry strangely, seeing his heave of tiredness, and then looked back at Tiansom, whose bent head betrayed his exhaustion. He looked again at Merry, who seemed to have recovered from his sudden bout of tiredness, and Tiansom, whose steady stride was now slowing. He glanced this way and that, and he seemed to be nervous, his eyes searching for menaces unseen.

     Frodo, who was on the pony with Sam, was feeling troubled as well, and his hand went to the pendant Arwen had gifted to him. His hand clasped upon it, and it seemed to send relief through him. The old wound in his shoulder was not cold or painful, but his senses were warning him of great danger.

     The ponies seemed to have sensed it as well. They neighed anxiously, and their hoofbeats were jerky and unwilling. They clearly sensed a menace in the valley ahead. They shied, and threw their riders, and before the stunned hobbits could call them, they were bounding away from the valley and up through the forest that led back to the Havens. Pippin yelled and called for his pony, and Merry hooted and whistled and made all sorts of noises, but none of those excellent ponies ever returned to them. Sam helped Frodo up, and then yelled, when Mithrandir whispered urgently, "Quiet, Sam! Can you not see your pony has sensed danger?"

      "He has sensed danger, a great danger." said Tiansom quietly. "Look to the East, and two of you will see of what I speak."

    Frodo looked east, and his breath caught in his chest and nearly choked him. His hand slid to his sword, and he drew it, and it gleamed cold in a clear light. He could see tall, black-cloaked, faceless figures approaching, riding soundlessly upon the air, for they needed no steeds, but they were unmistakable to their victims. They were Wraiths, the Ten Wraiths of Thangorodrim.

    Merry's old wound from the wraith grew cold, and seemed to freeze, and his knees shook, and his vision seemed to cloud, and he could see them, ten great and terrible men of old, whose eyes were hooded, whose swords were stained black with blood from Elves and Men alike. His hand crept to the sword that he bore with him, the sword of the Mark. He drew it, and it gleamed pale and fair, an unstained blade for a great warrior. Their voices were cold and high, and they echoed in Merry's head, and he clamped his hands over his ears, and knelt, quivering, for the fear the wraiths lay in all beings was overtaking him. His wound was dripping blood now, and he screamed high and cold, and lay flat, his breath cold, his life fleeing him slowly.

    "Wraiths!" cried Mithrandir, and his clutch tightened on his staff. "Sam! Pippin! Draw your swords and stay close to each other! Guard Merry, for he is in grievous danger. There is nothing I can do now to save him, for the wraiths are advancing upon us. May your bravery save you!"

     Tiansom drew his sword, and his eyes flamed cold, and the great sword of Ulmo blazed bright like the flame imprisoned in the Silmaril. Frodo watched him awestruck, for only then did he see the power of Tiansom revealed in full wrath. The wraiths surrounded him, drawing their black blades, but they were forged by Morgoth, whose untruth flowed deep in the metal and weakened it.

     Tiansom swung downward in a sweeping stroke, and his blade clove the undead flesh, and the head of one of the wraiths fell at his feet, and its blade melted, and its robes fell limp to the ground. Tiansom stood tall, his blade gleaming in delight at having killed a wraith. Frodo yelled, "The Shire!", and stabbed at the wraith that advanced menacingly upon Merry. The blade, forged by the greatest of the Noldor smiths, and bound in spells that were the bane of all of Morgoth's servents, went as easily through the wraith's body as if it was sliding through fresh cheese. The wraith howled evilly, and limped away, swinging his sword wildly. A flash like icy lightning flashed from Mithrandir's staff, and the wraith's unseen hands seemed to move up to its invisible face, as if it were blinded. Its sword dropped a few inches from Frodo, and the wraith stumbled back and moved clumsily away.

      Tiansom swung again, cold anger in his heart. His blade sliced cleanly through the blinded wraith's neck, and it too vanished into the winds of time, its sword's glare extinguished, its robes limp. The Lord Wraith drew his black sword, and turned to glare at Mithrandir, who stood like an old tree who had withstood the storms of time and still lived. Mithrandir's staff blazed again, and the Wraith stumbled, but it advanced upon Merry, whose high, cold, wraith-calls were drawing the Lord Wraith to him.

     Frodo stabbed with his sword, and the blade cut through the Lord's flesh, but he was too intent upon Merry, and ignored the fact that the blade had cloven his booted foot off. Sam swung with Sting, and the Elven blade slashed through the flesh, wounding the Lord even further, but his arm reached out for Merry, who lay gasping and unmoving. Pippin stabbed his gloved hand, and the Lord withdrew it temporarily, but kept leaning forward. Fear overtook the hobbits, and they quivered, unable to move or speak.

      Merry's vision was cloudy, but he could see the keen face of the Lord, grey-eyed and haggard, stretched and worn, and his wounded hand moving towards him. He tried to scream, but he could not, he could only watch, as the long pale fingers came ever closer to him. Suddenly, the wraith was jerked back, as if someone had pulled its head back. His sword fell flat on Merry, the blade's edge close to his neck. The blade burned Merry, and he croaked and tried to yell, but his voice was gone. He looked up, and through the clouds of shadow, he saw Frodo, who was clearer than the rest, like a glass filled with light. He looked further up, and Mithrandir was shining like a sun through the shadowy clouds, and then he turned his eyes, and they rested on Tiansom, whose form was clear and shining cold and pale, like the full moon. He had jerked the head of the wraith back, and now a blazing, blindingly bright sword was at the haggard king's neck. He could even hear words.

   "_Death would be too kind a punishment for you, Lord Wraith. You tried to take him."_

_    " I care not, foul servant of Iluvatur. Death I will take gladly."_

_  "You have betrayed yourself. Death is what you seek, is it not? You have lived far too long, you have stretched and broken your soul."_

_   " Yea...no...I wanted long life."_

_   "Realize you not that death is a gift? You will be freed from the circles of this world."_

_    "Nay, I will be entrapped."_

_    "Then I will give you your last gift."_

    And saying that, Tiansom swung his sword, and the pale king's head rolled from his shoulders, and Merry watched in shock as he melted away and became one of the clouds of shadow that swirled around him. Tiansom's clear form was enveloped in clouds of gray for an instant, and then his form burned through the Darkness paler and colder than the gleam of a sword. Merry felt the weight of the sword being lifted from him, and saw Frodo bent over him, looking down at him anxiously. Mithrandir was there, his fingers probing his wound. The forms of Sam and Pippin were as clear as silver glass now in the shadow-world. But Tiansom was staring into him, and in his hand was the Sword of Thangorodrim. Merry could see it burned his hands, and yet he held it, whispered strange words over it, and finally, with a small laugh, cast it to the ground, where the blackened blade broke into half, and the hilt darkened to the color of old rust.

    ****Tiansom's hand went to his pocket, and he felt the cold metal flask that Nienna had gifted him. _Use it when you seek life or death._ Her words echoed distantly in the corner of his mind, and he remembered flashes of her fair wisdom in his darkness. He pulled the flask out, and knelt by Merry, who was white and still, his wound icy to Tiansom's touch.

     _"Drink this."_ Merry heard his voice, faint now, and he tried to open his mouth, but he couldn't. He felt his mouth being forced open, and felt a warm liquid flow down his parched throat, it was life, it was the liquid light of the Sun herself. He coughed and spluttered, but the drink never spilled, it seemed to warm him from the inside, it blazed in him, and then he realized his hand was clamped to the Stone in his pocket, and it was warming his chilled skin. He blinked, and the clouds vanished, and he whispered raggedly, "Where is the Lord? Where is the dark sword?"

     "I have given him his final gift," said Tiansom. "Rest now, for his sword has been broken, and never again shall it be reforged. You've give us quite a fright, Merry! Especially when you drew the Stone out in front of the Lord Wraith's invisible face!"

    "I...I do not remember that."

    "There are few who ever will. Pippin!" he called into the young hobbit's ear. Pippin, who had been resting against Tiansom for most of the night after Tiansom had slew the Lord Wraith, started and awoke.   
    "Whatever did you do that for, Tiansom?"

     "Merry is awake."

    "Merry!" yelled Pippin, and he flew to his cousin's side. "You're awake! Bless you! I've been so frightened."

    "Yes, I am awake, Pippin. But I believe it is time for me to sleep. Good night!"

    "Good night, then, Merry!" said Pippin joyfully, and fell fast asleep again at Tiansom's side. Tiansom remained awake, watching the Sickle and numerous small stars pass above him, and Merry heard his voice, singing softly.

      _When the world was young, and legends were true,_

_     When kings were unborn, and great lords were children,,_

_    There dwelt the fairest Children of Arda,_

_   The Elves of the First Creation._

_  They built no tower, they lived in no city of white stone,_

_ for the trees were silver towers, _

_and__ the mountains were the white heavens to their eyes._

_The land they loved, _

_the__ water was their son, and fair sky their daughter._

_They learned the speech of stone and sky, _

_and__ learned the secrets of earth and animal,_

_from__ stone and earth they crafted great objects that even the Valar desired,_

_the__ Lamp of Oriomo, the Jewel of Mal, and the Statue of Tila,_

_Melko, the Darkness that is Great, took to his heart these three,_

_desiring__ to have them, and enslave their makers._

_When they knew of his poisoned thought,_

_the__ Elves destroyed all treasures the Dark might desire,_

_and__ Melko erupted in mighty rage,_

_casting__ flame to silver tree, bringing strong mountains of white down in wrath,_

_and__ into impenetrable Utumno did he take the Elves,_

_vowing__ to let them die of grief for land and sea._

_Into dark dungeon he cast them, _

_Not even the Light of the Two Lamps could shine through to them._

_Yet one dark night, a single star shone through to their dark cavern,_

_And it spoke: You must choose, will you take the gift of those to follow, or keep what life you have?_

_And the First Elves, in their wisdom, saw what path they must choose._

_They left two alive: fair Tamiel, and brave Lomaen_

_And passed beyond the torture of Melko and the glory of Elbereth,_

_Into lands where only the spirits of the mortal dwell.___

_And Lomaen chose the gift of the Edain soon after, when Melko destroyed the last of the silver trees._

_Tamiel lived long, when Melko fell and Sauron arose,_

_To Barad-dur from Utumno was she taken,_

_where__ Sauron tortured her, believing the First had left treasure hidden,_

_And there she gave life to a son, and passed to him the wisdom she bore, _

_gifting__ him with the mortality of men._

_She passed in grief, the last of the First Elves,_

_And their flame forever more was cast into darkness._

_In Barad-dur, in the __land__ of __Mordor__,_

_did__ shadow fall upon the silver flame._

    Merry watched Tiansom, who was now leaning up against a tree, his head in the direction of Mordor and the Far East. He felt a deep sorrow come upon him, as he thought of the silver flame being shadowed in the fires of Mordor. "I suppose I shall never forget the tale of the First Elves," he whispered, as he fell asleep.


	10. The Tales Untold

Chapter 10: The Tales Untold

  "Awake, little hobbits! Awaken, and smell the fresh air of the fair light of the Mother Sun!" Tiansom called, though his voice sounded gravelly and weary. His eyes were dark and tired, but he seemed to gain strength from the glistening rays of the bright dawn.

   "Ai, Tiansom, can we not have a sleep?" Pippin moaned as he stretched tiredly, his unkempt hair and sleepy-eyed expression clearly stating he wished to stay asleep. Tiansom looked at him, smiled and said, "Do you not wish to see the sunrise? It is beautiful, and few things of beauty remain in beloved Arda." Pippin simply flopped forward onto his face from his half-sitting position, and a deep snore could be heard from his corner.

   "Awaken, Pippin, for you must know why you went through what you did last night." said Tiansom gently as he shook him. His voice was gentle, but quite firm, and Pippin moaned a half-hearted protest and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "What of Merry? Is he aright?"

   "Merry is tougher than the greatest Man. He is alive and well, Pippin. You need not worry yourself." 

  "Awaken!" he called again, and soon the muffled groans and soft shuffle of sleepy hobbit-feet could be heard. Mithrandir was already quite awake, and was laughing softly down at Tiansom, who had pulled his knees up to his chest, and was rocking back and forth like a naughty child who has been punished. His eyes roved this way and that, but his expression was one of careless laughter, and the bright sword of Ulmo gleamed gently, like a dewdrop in the sun.

   "Why have you woken us so early, Tiansom?" said Merry as soon as he could stop yawning. Sam was nodding in agreement, his head and body nearly falling forward in his sleepiness. Frodo was dully alert and quite sleepy, but he was quite aware of what Tiansom was about to do, and so did not make protest.

    "You were not attacked by mistake by those wraiths. Seven remain. The Lord is gone, and his sword broken, but the darkness which the Wraiths serve will regroup them, with an older, and more evil, leader. You must know why you were attacked, and then, make the hardest decision that you shall ever make. I tell you now, I will not force you to make any decision, for force is dangerous, and I cannot use it on the Shire-folk even if I tried to."

    "Why did the Wraiths attack us, Master Tiansom? Was it...was it because...of..of Master Frodo?" asked Sam anxiously.

    "Frodo? The Wraiths search for what he bears, but he is not alone. They have attacked me before, when Frodo still lived in fair Valinor. They should have killed Merry, for they desired greatly what he bore. Nay, it was not because of Frodo. Aragorn's fine men of the White City have been seduced by this darkness. The Nine are the reason why they attacked. There are six of us here. Six of the Nine Stones are with us. They were entranced. They wanted the Stones. So they attacked us."

    "What....of what stones do you speak?" stammered Pippin.

   "You know of what I speak. I show to you my treasure, my Stone!" said Tiansom, and from his deep pocket he drew the flaming-orange stone that kindled fire from its blood-tinged depths. Pippin stared, and as if in automatic response, his hand slipped into his pocket, and he drew his stone, the Stone of Wind, lightly gray now, breezy and delicately strong. He ran his fingers over it, and his eyes strayed to Tiansom, who smiled and pocketed his own Stone, and then clapped his hands, a look of relief upon his face.

    "So I have guessed right. The Nine of the Fellowship of the Ring bear the Nine Stones. We are all headed toward Gondor, and the Lord Aragorn. From Gondor we must decide where to head to, the dark fort of Angband in the North? Or to the wastes of Utumno? Or to the broken ruins of Thangorodrim?"

    "It is a long road to Gondor," said Sam. "We have no food, and no drink, and we have no ponies."

    "Do you wish to stay? I cannot, and will not, force you to leave. But if it is any comfort, I have known these lands far longer than you think."

   "But why? Why does Melkor seek the Nine?" Frodo asked. Sam's eyes widened at the mention of Melkor's true name, and he whispered, "Morgoth? Morgoth, who...who caused misery to the great Valar, and stole the Silmarils to set in his iron crown?"

    "Yea," whispered Tiansom, "it is he, great Morgoth who caused the first misery."

  "We cannot defeat him! He is...he is too terrible...he tricked the Elves! Nobody that I know could have tricked the fair Elves." Sam cried in anguish.

    "Sam. Listen to yourself speak. Are you saying that there is not even the slightest of hopes that we might come out of this war the victor?"

    Sam mumbled inaudibly, and Mithrandir spoke. "Tiansom is correct. There is the slightest, the smallest of chances that we should come out the victor in this most terrible of wars. We are the Nine who defeated Sauron. We must not be afraid, for we have borne bigger burdens than this before," and he flicked his glance towards Tiansom for a slight second before meeting Sam's wary gaze again. "Do not worry, Sam. With you are weapons beyond imagining, and you are guided by the last remaining descendent of a mighty race of Elves." With this, Sam turned to look at Tiansom, who was sitting in a half-crouch by the trees, rocking back and forth like a hobbit-child at school, and shook his head in disbelief.

   "_Ahso iom deyo senyoha, iom deya meanow."_ Tiansom said, smiling slowly. Then he arose, and looked to the East, and said, "Time flies without a care. We must journey soon, if we are to journey at all." He pulled his grey hood over his face, and leaned back against the tree, whistling a soft tune nobody could hear.

   "Sam. Merry. Pippin. I cannot force you along with us, for force breeds foul hatred. I can only ask that you come of your own will. But decide quickly, for the Riders can sense us much easier than their weaker Nazgul brethren. We will never make it to Gondor safely if we do not start soon."

    "But what about Rosie? And little Elanor? Leave them I cannot."

   "Thankfully, I have remained bachelor. I will go, for the thirst of adventure rises in my Brandybuck blood again, and this time I cannot deny it. What of you, Pippin? Last time I saw you were knocking the apples off the Brandybucks' only fruiting tree for Diamond."

    "I have not married her, nor have I asked yet, though I intended to, if Frodo ever returned."

   "Why do you not admit that you had not the nerve, dear cousin?" said Frodo, laughing.

    Pippin's face turned a rosy red, and he buried his head in his hands, muttering incoherently. Frodo laughed and slapped him on the back. "Worry not, cousin! Should we come victorious from this Quest, then Diamond will hesitate not to marry you!"

   "What of you, Sam? It is hard, for I know you love Elanor and Rosie dearly. I cannot ask you to part with half of yourself." said Frodo softly.

    But just then, Tiansom broke into sudden song, and Frodo paused to listen, and Sam's mouth was agape, for the song was saddened and slow, like the beat of his heart.

     _Ah, fair gold of Laurelin! Beautiful were thee!_

_    Shining gently like sunlit dew, _

_   brighter than the fairest gold._

_  Oh, great Telperion! Born from the light-river Silindrin!_

_  Thou shone brighter than waxed star,_

_  and fairer than strands of the Lady Starkindler's hair._

_  Ah, how dark were the poisons,_

_ That shadowed thee's light forevermore!_

_ Oh, how terrible Melko's wrath,_

_ when the Black Knife touched thou's holy bark!_

_ Ah, fair Lamp of Oriomo!_

_Bright was thy light, crafted by elven-hand,_

_bright__ as clear water, deep as the Seas Beyond,,_

_and__ when the Darkness fell upon fair Arda,_

_thou's__ light shone no more,_

_for__ into darkness did the world fall,_

_and__ into false legend did the Elves disappear._

   "That song is very sad," commented Pippin after a pause of silence. "Is it true?"

  "True? I daresay it was, Master Pippin. But I will not tell the tale of times long ago now, for there are more pressing issues we must deal with now." Tiansom looked sideways at Sam, and then bent his head, drawing his gray elven-cloak closer to himself, as if he felt a sudden chill.

  "I...I cannot leave. But I cannot stay! With Master Frodo going and all...I do not know what to do! Help me, Gandalf!"

  "The Shire is not safe if you remain here, Samwise. The Riders take little heed of hobbits, for they were far after Morgoth's time, and are insignificant in his eyes. It is Men he seeks. Men, Elves, and any who bear the Stones."

  "Then I must go."

  "To that I will say neither yea or nay." Mithrandir said with an unusually sharp tone.

 "Will Rosie and Elanor be safe?" Sam whispered, as he wrung his hands desperately. "If I only knew that they would be safe..."

 "Sam." Tiansom had turned his head to look at Sam, and Sam could feel his heart pierced by his keen gaze. "They will be safe if you leave. For Melko's gaze is on you, and this Company of Nine. He is intent upon you, as Sauron was intent upon Minas Tirith when the greatest danger lay in his own land. Melko will ignore them, as he has always done in war and deception."

   "Then I make my decision," said Sam slowly. "I will go with Master Frodo. I will always look for the time when Rosie and I will meet again, and I can see little Elanor. But my soul lies here, even if my heart lie elsewhere."

   "Very well, then," said Tiansom, "we must head southeast, and if the journey is well, then we shall reach Gondor in three week time."

  "But to where shall we head?"

   "Celeborn dwells in Rivendell now, he has not yet departed. And the Wood-elves of Mirkwood still linger in Middle-earth." said Mithrandir. "Celeborn may give us wise counsel in the matter of what we should do, and help hasten our journey. We will head to Rivendell."

   "Rivendell? The hidden valley?" queried Tiansom.

  "Yes, and you must lead us, for the time has come when you must discover what wisdom and knowledge lieth within you."

  "I will do my best." Tiansom said, gracefully bowing. He stood straight, and then said, "The quickest path lies not on the road, but off it. We must head through _Aintiluvue._" He paused for a moment, considering his statement, and then said, "Yes, that is the best way. Let us be off at dusk. But be watchful. Even though the Mother Sun blinds the Wraiths, they sense blood and life. They are drawn to life, for they hate it greatly."

   "The sun sets, and we must be off," said Frodo as Tiansom watched the blood-red sunset quietly. Tiansom turned and glanced at Frodo, and then at the rest of the small fellowship, and then he arose, his long robes flowing down to his feet. He murmured a silent thanks to the sun, and then called cheerfully, "Hobbits! The time to depart has come! Mithrandir, arise with the departure of the Sun! Come, for the journey is long!"

   "Coming! I am coming, don't be hasty!" Pippin yelled as he ate the meager remnants of their supper, and rushed to the hill of trees where Tiansom stood. Tiansom turned to him, grinned, and said, "I told you that I will lead you. Well, lead you I shall, so come, through this forest we must go, and then through a flat plain, which I fear the most, for the Riders can easily see us there. It is where Amon Sul is located, Weathertop in the Common Speech. That name, I am told, is not unknown to you. But we will not enter Rivendell through the Ford of Bruinen, so we will not pass Weathertop. I will try to find another way, through _Aintiluvue,_ and through that secret path the Riders have little hope of following us. But I have spoken enough! Let us be off!"

    And he strode steadily off to the northeast, and Frodo and Sam were in his tracks, Mithrandir following them with Merry and Pippin at his heels. Tiansom seemed quite sure of his way, and Frodo and Sam trusted him completely. Merry and Pippin trusted him as well, but they trusted Mithrandir even more so, and so they began to ask him about their leader.

     "What does _Aintiluvue_ mean, Gandalf?" asked Merry eagerly, and Pippin nodded in agreement to his question.

    "_Aintiluvue?_ The name is an old language, older than the language of the fairest Vanyar, or the Noldoli, or the Sindar, but it means, and this is a rough meaning, mind you, _Firewalker Path_."

    "Firewalker Path? I hope Tiansom has not a mind to lead us through fires like those of Mordor!" said Pippin, laughing.

  "I told you it was a rough meaning. It could also mean _Path of the Sunfire._ The language is that of the Calacarcuil, the Elves of Awakening. Their words have many meanings." 

  "I thought translating the languages of the Calaquendi was difficult. Obviously I have been proved wrong!" laughed Merry in his turn. "But how does Tiansom speak the language of Elves?"

   "He is a Halfelven, as is Elrond. His mother was one of the Calacarcuil. She passed to him great knowledge and wisdom, and she was the last of the Calacarcuil to die. Tiansom is the only surviving descendent of the Elves of Awakening."

   "Die?" asked Pippin. "But Elves are immortal, are they not?"

   "Hush!" said Merry, a bit sharply. "I know the tale of the Calacarcuil, and the death of their race is the most sorrowful event that I have heard in words. But here is a clue if you wish for it: _In Barad-dur, in Mordor, did shadow fall upon the silver flame._ I will speak no more of that."

    Tiansom was weary, for he had walked long, and he had felt a chilling pain flash through his body at sudden moments ever since the wraith had stabbed him, and it left him even more weary than before. The fellowship was straggling as well, for they were exhausted, and they had left the trees of the forest a few hours ago, and were now surrounded by flat grassy plains with few trees, and in the distance, he could see the remains of the watchtower upon Amon Sul. 

    Sam was yawning, and propping up Frodo, who was half-asleep, and doubly uneasy about crossing any land near the dread Weathertop. Mithrandir was tired as well, and Merry and Pippin were barely keeping up with his slowed steps. Tiansom surveyed the land with some doubt, but deciding that all was well, he turned to the exhausted fellowship, and spoke. 

   "My friends, forgive me for leading you so far with no rest. We will rest now, and I will keep watch. We will set off in the bright noon tomorrow, so be gladdened."

   "But what of food?" asked Pippin wearily.

   Tiansom laughed. "I will not say 'tighten your belt', for food I will find, though I eat little, for those who are of the Awakened need not much to keep them alive. Food? I will hunt at the break of day. Sleep it off now."

    The members of the fellowship found their own comfortable corners in the endless grass plain, and were soon sleeping soundly, except for Frodo, for flashes of the dreaded wraiths and the flash of the Nazgul's sword carving his flesh kept his mind in unease. He stood up gently, leaving Sam sleeping like a log, and found Tiansom, whose drawn sword lay on his lap, gazing watchfully over them. His sword was dim now, indicating that no enemy was near. Tiansom glanced at Frodo, and Frodo came to him and sat by him.

    Tiansom seemed to be counting the stars again, and he was lost in some deep thought. But he came out his trance, and smiled at Frodo. "Forgive me, for I prove to be uninteresting many a time."

    "It is well. I cannot sleep, for the memory of the Nazgul is still fresh in my mind." Tiansom turned and surveyed Frodo, and then continued to watch over the sleeping fellowship. He straightened his back out of a hunch, and then spoke, "Tell me about the Shire-folk." 

   "What is there to say about them? They are a quiet people, and love food and drink. But I suppose, somewhere deep down inside of them, there is courage that would rival the greatest Man's." Frodo went silent at this, remembering his days in the Shire, stealing mushrooms, and causing Brandy Hall to rise in an uproar with Merry and Pippin when he lived there.

   "Tell me about your people," Frodo said, after the memories drifted away from his mind.

  "My people? You know much already about the unquieted Sauron, and I hate him greatly, so of him I will not speak, nor of his foul brood of Orcs and Dark Men. Of my mother's people, the Calacarcuil, Elves of Awakening, I could tell you much, and it would bore you. But of the Three Creations, perhaps you would be interested." He paused here, and suddenly stiffened, and his face was alert and wary. He closed his eyes, listening, and then Frodo, who wondered what he could have possibly heard, listened as well, and then he heard it as well, a high, tortured, wail, followed by answering wails in cold, sharp tones. Tiansom opened his eyes, and breathed deeply. His sword was gleaming dimly now.

  "So they have come. It is as I feared. They have been regrouped. Seven wraiths of Thangorodrim. Let us hope they do not attack us tonight, for the fellowship is in desperate need of rest." He lay his sword down by his side, still intently listening, and said, "I promised you a tale of our people. I will sing it softly, so I will hear the wraiths should they call again."

   _Ah! When the light was young,_

_  and the Two Trees but a thought,_

_ The Awakened walked the world,_

_and__ cured the dumb of their ignorance,_

_and__ healed the wounds of the hurt._

_In deepened thoughts did their minds always wander,_

_and__ one day, they thought,_

_How shall we preserve the world,_

_for__ those who will come after?_

  Here Tiansom abruptly broke off, and Frodo said softly, "Please continue! I wish to know of what comes after."

 "The wraiths are not near," he said slowly, glancing at his sword, whose deathly light waxed slightly. "But they are not far away." He glanced at Frodo, and said, "Forgive me for breaking my song. I will continue."

_They loved all Arda, desiring not fair Valinor,_

_treading__ on its soil only in dreams untold._

_They decided to preserve the essences of Three: Sea, Star, and Earth._

_So they poured their energy, their mind, their love,_

_Into fulfilling their desire_

_To preserve what was for what was to come._

_The dark water of the Sea,_

_they__ mingled with white flame,_

_and__ lo! a dark fire burned, _

_the__ heart of the Sea._

_This they imprisoned in a lantern of glass and silver,_

_the__ Lamp of Oriomo it was named._

_But what of Earth and Star?___

_'Twas clever Calimno who found the way.___

_The soil of Arda he took, and the light of Kullenin,_

_and__ then he crafted a mighty gem, the Jewel of Mal._

_And fair Taeolin begged of the Starkindler,_

_for__ a bit of white light from Silindrin._

_This she gave, and he mixed it with the silver tree's wood,_

_and__ from it, he carved a white statue,_

_that__ burned bright like the star, _

_and__ felt soft like the tree from whence it came._

_The Great Three, of Star, Sea and Earth,_

_were__ now crafted, and their light shone_

_From Arda to the Lands Beyond,_

_and__ for a while, as small as it might be,_

_was__ there grace in far Utumno,_

_and__ peace in all the lands._

  "The tale darkens after the Creation. Melko sought to take the Three for himself, and the Elves discovered his desires when the Creators of the Three were slain. They destroyed the Great Three, burning them secretly in the forge of Aule. Melko erupted in rage, destroying the lands of the Awakened, casting foul spells upon the things that the Elves Awakened, so that they attacked them, and drove them to Utumno, where they were imprisoned until they chose the Gift of Men, and fled the World forevermore."

   "It is a sad tale! But do the Calaquendi, who have seen the Light, remember the stories of the Awakened? For surely, the wisest of the Elves must know some of this tale."

  "The Calaquendi remember little, and what they do remember is naught but far legend. By the time Utumno was broken, the Elves had already perished, and the one who remained was taken by Sauron and hidden from the eyes of the Valar. If there are any who remember our grief, it is Ulmo, for he helped us ascend to Aule's forge to destroy the Three. Ulmo has taken me under his protection, for I am the last of a race he loved more than the Teleri." At this Tiansom sighed in deep sadness, and fell silent. Frodo knew he would speak no more, and so he went back to Sam, smiled to see him still fast asleep, and lay down near him and fell asleep as well, his mind now drifting in strange dreams of a time long before.


	11. Aintiluvue: The Path of Fire

Chapter 11: Aintiluvue: The Path of Fire

                                             _And they walked through wind and rain,_

_                                             through trails of mud and wet stone,_

_                                           Seeking for the unknown door,_

_                                         O Aintiluvue! They sought for you,_

_                                        the path of the sunlit flame,_

_                                       the hidden road, the one that all seek_

_                                      And that only the Awakened will ever find._

  

  The smell drifted lazily in the air, carelessly, and it tickled the nostrils of the sleeping fellowship. Tiansom was in his usual half-crouch, his gray cloak making him look like a dark ghost. But this time he was crouching in front of a small fire, over which a crude version of a wooden skewer was held up by two long notched sticks thrust deep into the ground. Two rabbits were skewered and over the flame, and every so often, Tiansom would turn them, and once he blindly thrust his hand in the fire instead of holding the skewer, and cursed darkly when he wasn't sucking his hand in pain. It was early sunrise, and the air was still cold, so the fire was a welcome blessing.

   "Hoy....do I smell roasted coneys?" Sam muttered as he turned over, blinking slowly in the hazes of sleep. He rubbed his eyes and yawned softly, but Tiansom's eyes shot up from the fire, and he smiled. Sam could see he was still muttering darkly under his breath, so he dared not to reply.

   "Master Samwise! A fair morning to you!" Tiansom called, and Sam smiled, saying, "A good morning to you too, Master Tiansom." Under his breath, his hand still throbbing and a bright burned red, Tiansom muttered, "_Zomorto aintil, zomorto aintil! Zomonoi!"_ and then he gestured to Sam to come and join him by the fire. Sam did so, and he was pleased to be in the warmth.

   "We have a long road to walk, Samwise. And the Riders are close. I know not why they haven't attacked us. But we best be off early. Eat comfortably, for there are many more things to cook." said Tiansom, pointing to a pile of slain birds and rabbits close to the fire. Sam recoiled in disgust, and Tiansom laughed softly, and then, his sword sheathed by his side, he walked a little further to the north, turned around, and sat. Now he was almost hidden by the tall grasses, and Sam knew he was watching over them quite closely, even though they could not see him.

    "Sam, have you been pinching off food again? I know Rosie loves daring hobbits, but surely, you've proved yourself, haven't you?" came a laughing voice. Sam jumped up, a piece of roasted rabbit in his hand, to see Merry quite awake and well, and nearly doubled over in laughter at Sam's fright. Sam frowned, swallowed the food in his mouth, and said, "A good morning to you too, Master Merry, and if I ain't wrong, then you've been trying to smarten yourself for that lass....Lilian Took, I think? I heard she's been pursuing the brave and fearless." Merry blushed crimson, muttered inaudibly, and snatching a piece of rabbit out of Sam's outstretched hand, he wolfed it down ravenously, speaking between chews, "Where...where...is...Tiansom?"

     "I am he who watches unseen, Merry!" called Tiansom from his sentry post. Merry coughed on his food, and then blushed even a brighter red, knowing that Tiansom had probably heard Sam's recall of Lilian. Tiansom chuckled softly into his hands, and then continued to watch silently as the rest of the fellowship awoke.

     Gandalf seemed to be pondering something, and he gazed thoughtfully into the fire while eating his rather poor breakfast. Perhaps he was thinking about mysteries hidden from the eyes of Iluvatur's Children, or perhaps he was thinking about their next stop and how the food was not in his taste. His hand clutched slightly tighter onto his staff, and his face seemed to become worn with sorrows and joys uncountable again.

       Pippin was too busy trying to figure out how to throw a half-eaten bone at Merry's head and flee for his life at the same time. Giving up on what seemed to him to be the ultimate paradox, he simply picked a leg off the skewer and sat near Merry, chewing it thoughtfully, sometimes muttering softly to Merry, whose grin was growing wider and wider, until finally he let out a shout of laughter, startling the birds, and it appeared, Gandalf, though Tiansom remained unnervingly calm and silent.

    "Fool!" hissed Gandalf. "Do you not sense them? They watch you, they are keeping their force out for you. The Riders are near! Hush now!" Merry's face snapped back to a rather doleful expression, but he knew that he did not want to face any Rider for as long as he could run in the opposite direction. Pippin made ugly faces behind Gandalf's back for a while, then, remembering that Tiansom was still watching them with that devastating skill of his, he worked his face back into its normal cheery stance. Tiansom, meanwhile, was laughing low and slowly, because more than anyone, he approved of hobbit pranks. 

     Frodo was beginning to arise from the cloudy shadows of sleep, and yawned, rolling over. His hand brushed against the pendant Arwen had gifted him, and he seemed to have been clutching it all night. He shivered, and then finally pushed himself up, and seeing the lazy smoke and cheery glow of the fire, he trotted towards it gladly, taking the meat that Sam had considerately saved for him. He had not slept well, for the Nazgul, though they had perished, still haunted his deepest thoughts. He looked around for Tiansom, and not seeing anything asked Sam where he was.

    "He's watching over us,  Master Frodo." said Sam quite simply. Frodo looked this way and that, and caught the slightest gleam of a sword in the sunlight, hidden in the grass. He nodded to Sam, wondering how Tiansom could possibly be awake at this hour when he hadn't had a bit of sleep all night.

     Yet he could see Tiansom's form silhouetted against the morning sun, for Tiansom had now arisen, and looking away from the fellowship he turned East, towards an invisible path, and an unseen door. For Tiansom the path was as clear as red fire. He could sense it, but he could not feel it with his physical senses. It was a template in his mind, a _higher_ understanding of his surroundings. When he held his mind just perfectly, he could see it, a dimly lit path leading to a silver and gold veil that marked a door. Gandalf could see it too, a path which the Valar had created so long ago when the world was young, and which Melko's darkness had blinded him from. It was not destroyed, but it had decayed, for the Valar had not tended it nor ever would. 

     "I see it. There it lies, the Path of the Sunfire. The door leads into what seems to be an entrance to a underground passage of tunnels. I suppose the Numenor had never found it, for they wouldn't have built Amon Sul if they did." Tiansom said, and Frodo looked up at him from his breakfast, and said bluntly, "Will the wraiths be able to enter?"

      Tiansom smiled grimly, saying, "All sorts of fun things can happen here. The magic that protects the Sunfire Path has decayed greatly, and I am surprised that I can see it at all. Another sign that Melko's reach is long."

     Frodo sighed despairingly, and Tiansom merely yawned tiredly. Sam watched his master concernedly, and said, "Could we not take another path? It seems the one we've chosen is as dangerous as the one we're not taking." Tiansom looked at him, and then came over and sat by him, pulling his knees up in his familiar half-crouch. 

     "I suppose we could, if you wanted to pass Amon Sul, and the wraiths are quite ready to attack us, for I assume that they hide there."

   "But I cannot see the path you speak of." Tiansom sighed, and said, "You can sense it, deep within your very bones, even if you cannot see it."

    And Sam knew this was true, for in his bones he could hear the sound of a tinkling veil of gold and silver, and feel the heat of the lamps of red flame. He fell silent, and Tiansom bowed his head into his chest, and it seemed he had fallen asleep, but his head snapped up seconds later, and he yawned unconcernedly.

   "Should we be off?" he asked Gandalf, and the old wizard turned to him, and smiled, saying "Yes, but the wraiths do not venture often in sunlight, for it tires them greatly. Take your rest, but be ready to set off at noon, for the sun is strongest then."

    "Yes..Ga..Gand...Gandal.." Tiansom stuttered sleepily, as he flopped onto his side by the fire and fell into a deep sleep.

    "Wake up, Tiansom," said Frodo gently, shaking him, which was rather difficult, considering that Tiansom was nearly seven feet tall. Tiansom made no protest, and turned over, rubbed his eyes, blinked, and then pushed himself to his feet, after which he dusted himself off, and yawned. The bright noon sun pained his sleepy eyes, but they soon adjusted to the fierce light. He looked around. The fellowship had packed what little they had, and Merry had kept his sword drawn. Tiansom drew his as well, and it flamed a bitter white.

    He shaded his eyes, listening to the sound of the wind and the rustling grass, his heartbeat nearly matching it. The path was there, the red lamps flickering now, for the ancient art that kept it hidden was dying, and weakened. Tiansom turned to Frodo and Sam, who were closest to him, and motioned for them to follow him. They obediently walked in his steps, as he strode towards the dimming red flame-lanterns that marked the path. Gandalf walked beside Tiansom, with Pippin and Merry in his train. 

     Tiansom felt a sudden cold flash in his bones, and then he knew. He quickened his pace, but he knew it was useless, even as the red lamps neared. They would follow. They would have to fight... _Melkor, He who Arises in Might. Mightiest and most knowledgeable of all the Valar. His power runs deep. He needs no Ring of Power, for his Ring is mortality, Middle-earth is his domain. He knows all, for his evil lies deep within Middle-earth..._

    The wraiths screamed chillingly gleeful calls to each other. They rode upon the air, like evil black hawks encroaching upon their prey. Morgoth had told them of this path, for hadn't he been one of the Valar? Hadn't he created this path with Aule and Manwe? Tiansom felt like cowering, and whimpering, for he now tasted the bitterness of failure. Frodo and Sam had drawn their swords, and were on the ready, in a striking stance. Pippin too had drawn his sword, ready to defend his cousin. Never would he flee like a coward before the wraiths' sightless eyes again. Gandalf was leaning hard on his staff, ready to use it and all the ancient magic he knew.

    "Do not fight!" he yelled. They turned to him, their eyes wide with surprise. The deathly wails of the wraiths grew louder.

     Merry shouted, "You fool! They are drawing close to us! We have no choice!" 

   "You will not stand a chance! You have no choice but to flee! There are seven of them! One is enough to overcome you with fear, and two are enough to slay you! We cannot fight them all at once. Sheath your swords! Do as I say!" Tiansom shouted, his eyes dark with anger and alertness.

   "What are we to do, then?" Pippin called sardonically, his tone sharp and bitter, after he sheathed his sword. "The calls are growing louder, the stalkers come closer!"

     Tiansom suddenly turned to Sam. "Do you trust me?"

    Sam, startled, stuttered, "Y...yes." Frodo looked at him, and then at Tiansom, and said, "You already know my answer would be yea, but why do you ask at a time like this?"

      Tiansom bent to his knees. "Get on my back, Master Samwise. I will carry you. Hobbits, as swift as they might be, are no match for seven wraiths under Morgoth's spell." Sam obligingly clambered up his back, clinging to his neck. Tiansom then lifted Frodo in his arms, and turned to Gandalf. "Can you bear the two others?" 

     "Yes." said Gandalf. "We must be quick." He swept up Merry and Pippin with extraordinary strength, one in each crook of his arm, his staff still tight in his hand. Tiansom had already sheathed his sword, so he would be rendered helpless if the wraiths found him alone. The first wraith came bounding over a low hillock that they had crossed, shrieking with mighty fervor, and hungered with hatred and cold anger.

      Tiansom sped off like a deer, his feet barely touching the ground, his eyes wide and fixed upon the steadily growing red lamps. Gandalf was speeding behind him, his staff giving off blinding flashes of flame at times. The wraiths continued to scream, and then spread out, two on each side of the fleeing fellowship, and three in the rear.

      Sam was yelling, for he was afraid his grip might fail, and he tightened his grip around Tiansom's throat. Tiansom nearly choked, but Frodo, seeing that his breathing was labored, called to Sam to loosen his grip a tiny bit. Tiansom leapt over rocks and small streams, and Sam bumped clumsily on his back, screaming, while Frodo, clinging loosely to Tiansom's neck, started to scream as well, for he could see dark hooded figures approaching the flying Tiansom with a great speed of their own to match.

      Tiansom was exhausted, his sight clouded with red haze. He bounded up to the veil of gold and silver, his head pounding, his legs shaking with tiredness. He pushed against the veil, and it fell away, and Tiansom felt his legs give way, for the ground had disappeared beneath him, and was now a chute, a chute crafted out of dark earth and hard stone. He slid feet-first past small lamps of gold and red fire, and landed on his feet in what seemed to be a hidden tunnel, paved with white stone, with white carved stone walls, inlaid with gems and stones that a Dwarf would envy. They were all gold, red, and orange, the color of sun-flame. Tiansom shakily got to his feet, Sam and Frodo slipping off him and landing firm on their feet. Gandalf arrived down the chute a few minutes later, the back of his robes slashed by a wraith's sword. He was breathing hard, and Merry and Pippin were speechless with fright.

     "I...I almost was captured by the Wraiths...I spoke words of magic, for the veil to seal, but it was too much, for the wraiths emit Dark Magic of their own, and the veil collapsed upon itself, and it brought down the lamps and the stones that mark the path in flame, sealing the entrance to this tunnel, for the chute is blocked by fiery stones and large boulders too great for any of us to move."

    "We have no way out then, do we Tiansom?" said Pippin, frightened by Gandalf's grim, tired voice.

    "Not unless we follow...follow the tunnel." he said, breathing heavily. Pippin sighed in defeat, and sat down next to Merry.

   "Light...I need light..." whispered Tiansom. He pulled out his Stone, but it seemed not to be the light that he wanted. It glowed fiercely, but it burned his hand. He sighed, and whispered, "_O, fair sun, blessed child of Laurelin, if only I could have your light in this tunnel named after thee."_  Merry appeared to have heard him, for suddenly he drew out his own Stone, and it waxed to a gentle golden-yellow, lighting all the tunnel with a fair, unstained glow. Tiansom looked at Merry, and said, "Ever am I in your debt, Master Merry! But come now, you must lead us! Go to the front, I will follow."

     Merry did as he was told, and Tiansom followed him, Gandalf behind him with three hobbits at his tail. They walked long in the winding tunnel, which seemed to lead them where it wanted to lead them, or perhaps it led them to where they wanted to go. Who knew? For this tunnel had not been walked in for years, since the Valar had left Arda.

    "I see light! Faint it is, but it is light!" called Merry, who was shaky in his walk now, and had slowed considerably. The others followed his lead eagerly, but they too were straggling, for they had lost track of time, were hungry, scared, and exhausted, and did not know where the tunnel had led them, excepting Tiansom, and he only had a shadowy idea of where it had led them.

    They emerged out of the other end of the hidden tunnel, and found themselves in a darkened cave with a veil of gold and silver over the opening. They pushed through the veil, and there was a flash of white light, and then their feet hit ground, hard flagged stone, as if it were a paved courtyard, or a path of stone. Tiansom's head spun considerably, and he tottered over before being propped up by an unknown someone. When his eyes cleared, he stood a bit straighter, and on his own, before turning to see who had supported him up. When he did, he nearly fell over again.

     It was Aragorn. They were in the Garden of the White Tree. The blood-red sun was sinking deceptively over the horizon.

   "Aragorn?" said Frodo, disbelieving as well. "We...are we in Minas Tirith?"

  "Yes, but how you got here is a mystery to me as well. I was sitting under the White Tree, thinking about when Tiansom would return with you, for it had been quite a while since he had departed, when the six of you simply appeared! I was surprised, but pleased mightily, for Legolas and Gimli have already arrived, and we can hold council as soon as you feel ready to."

   He then turned to Gandalf, as the hobbits and Tiansom turned away to their own lodgings which Aragorn had prepared for them.

  "How then have you arrived? It is a miracle Tiansom reached Valinor at all, but I suppose in these dark days, miracles are exactly what is needed to save Men from a second Evil."

   Gandalf replied, "We arrived by an ancient path, known only to the Awakened and those of Valinor. It crosses through Middle-earth, and we entered it near Amon Sul, so we have traveled farther than I thought. But we are here, and that is all that matters. The path has been destroyed by wraiths."

   "Wraiths!" exclaimed Aragorn. "Then I suppose Morgoth has wraiths as well? I thought Balrogs were his favorite form of terror and fear." he said grimly.

   "That may be true, but wraiths he has, seven now, for Tiansom slew three."

  "Slew? But wraiths are undead, they cannot be slain."

  "Armed with the sword of Ulmo, it is entirely possible." Gandalf said darkly.

 "So he was girt with a gift of Ulmo. Somehow this lightens my heart, for Ulmo's gifts are never in vain. I am reminded of the stories of Tuor, and of the Blacksword. Yet darkness fell on both Nargothrond and Gondolin, and it is casting a shadow in Minas Tirith."

  "I feared it would be so. Melkor desires these Stones greatly, but they will not enhance what great power he has. If he brings them under his control, he will assure himself of immortal rule, for none will then be able to destroy him. Yet if even one Stone slips from his grasp, then he has a greater chance of a fall. It is a risk he takes seriously. We must hold council soon."

   "That we will do soon enough, I hope."

  "Then let us hope the sun will rise through this darkness. At sunrise, the Council of the Fellowship will be called."

 "As you wish, Mithrandir."


End file.
